The Wound
by MatoakaWilde
Summary: Snape biography. Covers childhood, school days, Death Eater days, and his reformation. All chapters like one-shots. Plenty of SS/LE AND JP/LE! As canon as I could make it. also features Bellatrix, Dumbledore, Lucius, Voldemort, and Regulus. REVIEW ALWAYS!
1. Good Intent pt 1

**WE ALL BEGIN WITH GOOD INTENT**

Winter was gone. Instead of snow, rain fell, and the wind introduced mild breezes but the landscape remained in the grey dress of winter. The pastel sun sat distantly above the horizon, though the past few days it seemed father away than usual.

It was his father's birthday and he had been locked out of the house. Sent to get the local paper his father always read, he had returned to the front door only to find it locked. Thinking it at first accidental, he proceeded to knock two times, neither eliciting a response, except for the one within his own gut that said he didn't want to be inside at his particular moment.

So he'd left.

The surrounding streets lay empty on this dismal day. That was welcome. It meant he could walk without the threat of stares or comments that he felt were reserved just for him. He was cold but spared, which was far better than being warm and vulnerable. These were the few moments of freedom he was allowed. He longed to be alone as much as he longed to be a part. When he was alone nothing bad happened to him. If he avoided others they did nothing hurtful. To him at least.

The mist gave way to rain, rain that came down hard, fast, and heavy. Severus was drenched and shivering before he made it under the shelter of a garden shed. It seemed a safe enough place to wait out the rain; he doubted there would be much outdoor activity this afternoon.

He erupted into a violent shiver as he sat wrapped up, all his limbs hanging on to one another. To take his mind off the cold he began counting blades of grass. If the rain continued to pour by the time he reached a thousand he would make a go for it and run back to his house, which although not far away, he had little desire go to. But by four hundred thirty seven he began scrambling numbers, at seven hundred fifteen his head lay on his knee. His eyes closed around eight hundred twenty, his under-rested body crippled by the circumstances. He was only out for six minuets when a calico cat rubbed its face against Severus' damp coat.

His eyes opened abruptly at the foreign touch. After a moment they focused on the cat and the two creatures locked eyes, the cat's indifferent, the boy's both surprised and threatened. The cat broke the gaze first, turning its head to the shingled shed roof. Severus tucked his head closer to his chest and continued to frown at the cat when a young girl's voice called out. This singled the cat to jump.

--The cat! She's gone out the door!

--And right where he'll stay. See if I'm going out in the middle of a storm for a stupid animal.

--It's only rain.

--Well why don't you go fetch her then?

--Alright.

There was a brief pause.

--Without a raincoat?

--I'll only be a minute.

--You are a barbarian.

Then a laugh. A happy laugh, not a mean laugh, not a nervous laugh. A clear carefree laugh. This startled him. He realized he would not be alone soon, and what will happen when this laughing girl sees him sitting wet and muddy behind her house? Afraid, he got on his hands and knees and crawled frantically, sinking into the waterlogged ground as he did, until considering himself safely hind under a neglected bush. As he sat squatting on his feet, a sharp branch poked through his jacket into the flesh above his right hip. Just as he was about to adjust his position she walked right in front of him, her white canvas tennis shoes inches away from his own oversized and scuffed Wellingtons. All he could do was hold his breath and keep still.

--Kitty! Where've you gone? I know I saw you go—oh! So there you are!

The girl's feet left the vicinity of the bush and before he worried about ruining his cover his curiosity outwit him and he leaned a bit and peered through the branches hiding his face.

She had two red pigtails that rested on her shoulders and she wore a light blue jumper and a tan cotton skirt. Her face was turned away form him and he wasn't sure if he'd seen her before, or if she'd ever seen him.

--Come down from there! It's raining and I won't stand out here forever! Come on now.

It was then he noticed an extremely peculiar thing. She was not wet. Her hair and clothes were dry and no drops of rain seemed to fall on the ground around her. His lips parted in amazement. Could she be--? No…no he would've known.

The cat, out of Severus' view, looked down, considered the options, and jumped into the girl's arms.

--There you go! Now we'll go inside and I'll get you some warm milk and maybe some tuna, but Petunia mustn't see because she'll be upset that—

He listened to her voice as she went into the house. Thankful he had gone undetected he sat there one moment longer thinking maybe he wasn't as alone as he imagined.


	2. Good Intent p 2

**WE ALL BEGIN WITH GOOD INTENT**

The scent of cinnamon and ginger found its way into the hallways and rooms of the warmly lit home. Christmas was five days away. A festive enthusiasm infiltrated the air like static. From a small transistor radio tunes played like 'Jingle Bells' and 'Good King Wenceslas'. Small cream-colored hands held the plastic box delicately, adjusting the frequency whenever the clarity seemed less then perfect.

--Don't bother.

--But it works just fine.

--I don't want it.

--I thought you did though. Last summer you really enjoyed mine-

--Well I'm not interested in stupid muggle things anymore.

She let go of the radio. It slid down her crossed legs and onto the floor of the bedroom. Her eyebrows slanted in silent displeasure.

--Watch what you say.

--What? Radios are stupid. I don't like them.

--You used to love them!

--I never loved radios.

Lily's arms crossed, and her lips, which usually stayed slightly upturned in most situations, made their way into a frown. She gave no sign that she intended to reply. The boy, who sat across from her, didn't know how to continue the conversation without her lead.

--You're going to accept my present. It is only polite.

He looked into her eyes. The severity of her expression didn't change.

--And I don't care if you dislike radios because you happen not to be interested in them any longer but I DO care if you dislike them because those miserable friends of yours don't like them. That's what I think is stupid.

He holds his gaze on her a moment longer then glances to a window where dusk is slowly darkening. He snatches the radios from her almost without looking a shoves it into his pants pocket, where it disappears only giving its outline away.

--Are you happy now?

Her smile returned.

--Well I suppose I can't make an elephant jump.

Severus stared at her like she had gone mad.

--If you know the right curse you can.

--Oh you and _curses_!

--I find them interesting is all.

--Would you like the radio if I cursed it for you?

--Will you lay off about radios! If I ever liked them I wouldn't after today.

--So you got me a present? You said you did.

Lily's face shown expectantly and Severus' stomach immediately crawled and his breathing halted. He wished he knew how to disaperate because now seemed like the perfect time for such magic.

He had reasoned himself in and out of favor of coming here today and giving Lily his pathetic excuse for a gift. Even earlier when he left his doorstep he wasn't sure what he was going to do with his embarrassing present. He'd dreaded this silly gift exchange Lily had insisted upon. As he sat there he could feel the wooden box in the bottom on his pocket pushed down by the radio.

--If you don't have anything that's fine. Let's do something else.

--Here!

Severus practically threw the tiny cube shaped box at Lily. A big smile spread across her face.

--What's this?

--Justopenit.

His eyes were squeezed shut like he was expecting to be hit. This did not garner any awkward attention from Lily. She had come to regard him with a certain delicacy. She knew to be careful around him lest she should cause him distance himself even more then she already felt he did.

She eased the nail of her thumb into the thin line between the top and bottom of the box and pushed up. With her whole hand she pushed the lid back and forth until it popped off. Hovering at the brim was an emerald marble.

--I know it's stupid.

Lily stared at it without saying much. This made Severus even more nervous then he was, which he had not thought was possible.

--If you give me a few more days I can get you something better.

This wasn't true. If there were anything better he would've found it by now. He had no money so his options were limited, and what he could get his hands on was pure rubbish. It was worth noting the marble wasn't his. Or at least it hadn't been before he took it.

It had belonged to some children he'd been watching play marbles. After one of the children left, they had all slowly dissipated. He'd seen one of them drop a marble in an effort to catch up with the others, who had all but left him. Severus had made sure not descend upon it until the coast was clear.

Even before he picked it up he'd recognized its color as something special to him. Just because he would never admit to having something as arbitrary as a favorite color didn't mean that was without one. Lily's eyes had shot through him the moment he first saw them, like dazzling green beams. He considered them open, calm, understanding. From then on when he saw green, he saw her.

--It's wonderful. You used the hover charm?

--What? Eh, yes…

--You did magic outside of school!

Lily's eyes opened wide in amazed amusement.

--Not exactly.

He looked back at the window. The lampposts had come on and were reflected in a line along the wet streets. He would have to go home soon. He actually wanted to leave right now. This was too overwhelming. He didn't want Lily to know he'd been carrying it around for weeks.

Lily waited for an answer.

--I did it on school grounds, right before we left.

--Oh.

She sat smiling at the marble, watching it float in her cupped hands.

--I have to go now.

Severus stood up.

--They'll be expecting me.

Well at least his mother would. As far as his father was concerned Severus was trouble and trouble was best avoided.

Lily put the marble in its container and also stood up.

--Happy Christmas.

She hugged him.

--And thank you so much.

He kept his arms to his sides and muttered

--Happy Christmas.


	3. Caught up in all there was pt 1

**CAUGHT UP IN ALL THERE WAS**

--Flexilismodero!

The boy drew a sharp intake of breath. He gaped at his arm in horror. It fully rotated until the back of his hand touched the back of this thigh. His eyes went wild when the other followed suit. Wilkes twirled his wand at the first year Ravenclaw and the boy's back jerked forward like he was going to touch this toes, except his hands remained stuck to the backs of his thighs.

--Please let me go! I won't tell I swear!

--You're doing it wrong, Severus mumbled.

He stood behind Wilkes and Rosier in the deserted corridor near the library. The three boys had gone in search of a subject to test Severus' new curse on. For a week or two now he had been trying to come up with something to incapacitate someone. Yes there was_petrificus totalus_ and _expeliarmus_, but those were not serious enough. He wanted something more frightening, intimidating, something that showed the other person just who exactly was in control.

--I did wait YOU said!

--No. You didn't.

The boy was starting to whimper.

--Face it, it doesn't work.

--Please, I'll give you money, or I'll-

--Shut up.

Severus looked straight at the boy with bored disdain. Morons surrounded him.

--Flexilismodero!

Immediately the Ravenclaw's torso flew backwards and did not stop until his face was looking up at them from between his legs. Tears were beginning to streak his face.

--How did you DO that?

--You move your wand counterclockwise, NOT clockwise, the way YOU were doing.

Wilkes stared at the contorted boy in wonder. Rosier went up to the boy and squatted in front of him so that they were looking face to face. Rosier grinned back to Severus.

--A success then, eh?

--Please, please-

--Yes. I suppose it is. Exsolvi.

Severus pointed his wand at the boy and the boy's body shot back into place.

--Oh thank you, thank you I'll-

--Obliviate!

The muscles in the first year's face relaxed. The boy grinned at Severus.

--Are you having a nice day?

--Wonderful. In fact you were just telling me all about yours. Why don't you go back to your common room now, you mentioned you had an essay due tomorrow.

--Yes, yes, I did, I don't seem to remember if started it or not. I really better get going.

--I agree.

--Goodnight!

--Mmm.

The boy ran off. When he was gone Rosier and Wilkes turned to Severus.

--Really cool.

Severus thought to himself for a moment, tilting his head to one side, then began walking away. The other two followed on his heals.

--I can't wait to use it myself. The look on that ickle firsties face.

Rosier laughed.

--Should've taken a picture.

And though Severus wasn't as satisfied with the curse as his admirers were, he secretly ate their praise like a starved prisoner. He wasted no time in formulating ways in which to get more.


	4. Caught up in all there was pt 2

**CAUGHT UP IN ALL THERE WAS**

There were times when he felt he should quit. Quitting meant he could focus on going off somewhere, living a quiet life where he would be free to research and study the things he wanted to master. There would be no one to impress, no one to obey, no one to control him. But quitting wasn't an option that he could commit to. If he quit now people would say he was weak. His father said that those who quit were fickle people who didn't have any understanding of real work and would never become successful. Essentially they were people who paved the road of downtrodden freeloaders who amounted to nothing more than black holes. Severus knew he couldn't quit.

He was in an empty classroom when he successfully pulled off levicorpus on the toad he'd found in the dormitory of a fifth year. Finally, he had come up with a curse that would be perfect for Potter, for the next time he decided to play one of his dimwitted pranks on Severus. The thin line of his lips stretched upwards at the thought of that imbecile hanging there, pleading with him to see reason. How he would love to see Potter beg, or better yet Black. His stomach suddenly tingled at the thought of Sirius whimpering at his feet for mercy. Severus vowed if such a scenario were to conspire he would give Black nothing but smugness. And that would be if he were feeling _generous_. He giggled to himself.

--Is that you Sev?

The toad fell to the desk and his face fell into its normal stony expression. His eyes shot to the door. Lily Evans' face poked out from behind.

--What are you doing in here?

--Um…you know…

If Lily found out he'd be practicing dark magic on what she would consider a innocent and defenseless toad he would be ignored for a week and she would not walk around Hogsmeade with him that weekend. The toad let out a loud croak.

--Practicing. Transfiguration.

Severus picked up his wand and with a gentle flick, in place of the toad was a kitten. It opened its mouth wide and mewed. Lily laughed, walking over to cradle the fuzzy animal in her arms. Severus knew he was safe.

--You can do that without speaking? Looks like you don't need much practice. I can barely turn a cup into a saucer.

--No. You can do it. You're really good.

--Not as good as you.

He held his head down so his hair might hide the blush blooming on his face.

--Here, if you really want to do it you have to concentrate.

Severus stood up and faced Lily. Get your wand out.

--What? Now?

--Yes. You want to learn don't you?

--Yes.

--Okay wand out. Put the cat on the table.

Lily did this with slight hesitation.

--It doesn't even know what's going on.

--I don't like doing magic on animals.

Severus rolled his eyes.

--You can either be a saint or a good witch.

--I though you said I was good.

--Well you're not good enough. Now-

--Hey!

--What I mean is you have potential to be good. Better than most of the idiots here. Now look at the cat. You are going to turn it into a hat-

--What kind?

--I don't know…

--I need to know.

--Okay a top hat. Now you must concentrate on the spell. Hear it in your mind. See the letters spell the words. Feel it echo in the back of your throat.

He paused a few moments for emphasis.

--Mentally point your 'want' towards the subject. Lock your eyes on it. See it as the hat, hear the words, say them in your mind, and-

Lily's wand cut through the air and with a soft pop the kitten evaporated and a top hat covered in gray fur appeared. Her eyes lit up and she smiled at Severus.

--I did it! That's the first time I've ever done a spell silently! I can't believe it!

--You did all right Evans. For a beginner.

--I did great!

--Your hat is covered in fur and I think I see a tip of an ear.

She smirked at him.

--Did you call me 'Evans'? Since when am I 'Evans'?

--Well I am your teacher, aren't I?

She laughed and playfully pushed his arm.

--So Professor Snape, do you think I've got what it takes?

--Don't ask stupid questions Evans.

Lily howled with laughter, her eyes squinted shut. Severus carefully considers before he joined along.

* * *

Between bites of his ham and pretending to listen to Macnair go on about something that happened to him at Honeydukes he looks at the dark haired boy hunched over his plate at the end of the table. He has heard things about this boy, things he had not greatly considered before. There were new curses floating around the school and rumors about where they came from. Upon first seeing the boy, (his name was Snape or was it Snap?), he had thought him nothing more then a bookworm. A slightly scruffy one at that. Where did he get his clothes? His neighbor's laundry hamper? Well Lucius was beginning to believe that perhaps this boy was actually a diamond in the rough, or at least a very promising pebble. Worth recruiting? He had to wait and see. The Dark Lord would not have any use for a penniless librarian. There was a chance though. Perhaps it was time to initiate a friendship of sorts.

--Then that mudblood filth prefect came over and-

--Who's that again?

--Hugh Denton, looks like a pixie-

--No him sitting over there.

Lucius points in Severus' direction.

--Him? Just some third year. Severus something or other. Why? He do something?

--No, I'm not positive he can, yet.

* * *

Heat funnels into the large room through vents of which no one is sure of the location. Even with this added warmth the room retains a slight chill that all of its inhabitants have developed a tolerance to. Only one person is still up right now, and he is at a table scribbling with complete concentration into a heavy book, which although he is alone he nonetheless shields from view. He holds his body rigid, his arm the only part of him moving, filling page after page. It is obvious he is immersed in his work. It is not surprising he takes no notice when company arrives.

--Hello, Snape. Or would you rather me call you Severus?

The boy slams the book shut and turns around all at once. He is a deer in the headlights.

--Do you have a preference?

Severus' eyes widen to giant brown circles. He holds himself straight, quickly shaking his head side to side.

--Very well.

The two stare at each other. Severus cannot believe this seventh year is speaking to him. And _Malfoy_ of all of them. Malfoy hadn't really associated with him much after the first week of Severus' first year. Severus knew about Malfoy, his purity, his wealth, his power. He hoped nothing bad was about to happen to him.

--Why are you talking to me?

The tall blond boy chuckles, but it is not quite friendly.

--I am just seeing how my fellow Slytherin is doing. Do you think we will win the Quidditch Cup this year?

Severus just stares at him, waiting for the first of many blows.

--Dumb question I know, who else would win it?

Another chuckle.

--So what is that book you have there?

Severus glances back, covering it with his hand.

--A diary? Lucius smirks.

--No!

Malfoy's eyebrows rise. He holds out his hand.

--Give it to me.

This is not good. Severus would rather be cursed then for anything to happen to his book. He has poured so much into it. He almost starts to object but the cold eyes on Malfoy's face scare him. He slowly picks up the book. Malfoy snatches it. Opens it.

--'The Half Blood Prince' eh? You half blood?

He nods violently.

--Good. Good. I always hate it when mudblood sewage oozes its way into this House. It happens more then you think. A few years ago a chaser on our quidditch team admitted to being the child of two lawyers. Two muggle lawyers. Needless to say he was soon replaced.

He lingers on Severus for a moment after he says this. Then he turns back to the book. Severus watches in agony as Lucius flips through the pages, unsure of what he will do. After what seems like half and hour Lucius shuts the book and hands it back. Severus wastes no time in taking it.

--Very impressive Snape. Very impressive indeed. And only a third year?

Another vigorous nod.

--I have a feeling we will be seeing much more of each other. Perhaps we could get together next weekend. At the Hogs Head. Two o'clock. Don't be a minute late. And don't forget your book. I would be very interested in seeing some demonstrations half-blood.

Then he turned and left. Severus sits in shock for a little over fifteen minuets.


	5. You'll Slip before You know it

**YOU'LL SLIP BEFORE YOU KNOW IT**

The end of term fast approached. Exams were at their peak and soon enough the train would pull into the station to deliver the students back to their parents and their homes. Severus had never looked forward to the summer. He just accepted it for what it was, another season.

When he was a bit younger he felt a certain dread as the train squealed to a stop at King's Cross, but that childish feeling was gone from him now. Admittedly though, this summer seemed a _little_ promising. Malfoy had sent him, along with a few others, an invitation to his house for a week in August. Severus had a notion that it had something to do with the Death Eaters. Perhaps word had got out and he had impressed enough of the right people, maybe they were considering him! Severus always scolded himself for getting too caught up in his imagination when these thoughts took hold. Still, it seemed possible.

In his mind the idea of actually being one of the select chosen for such a secretive and powerful group was the ultimate fantasy turned reality. What had occurred to him was that being associated with such an impressive group as the Death Eaters would undoubtedly reflect upon his own importance, thus making him more worthy of a heart like Lily Evans'. What had not occurred to him (at least not strongly) was not only did Lily dislike dark magic and the Death Eaters in general, but the Death Eaters were unashamedly pure-blood enthusiasts who sought the eventual annihilation of muggle-borns. _Lily_ was muggle born.

When this little fact came up Severus always had excuses ready:

Lily's amazing magical talent would exempt her.

The Death Eaters were more complex than she thought.

The opportunities were too good.

He could protect her.

The Death Eaters were more of an 'underground' thing.

It was not like the Death Eaters could do _that_ much damage.

Everyday he thought of a new one and everyday Lily shut him up.

--You're smarter than that. She always said.

Then one day Potter, Black, and their two hangers-on ruined his life in the most hurtful way. The day had deteriorated to a blur in his memory. He couldn't remember what was the work of his own mind and what had actually transpired.

Of this he was sure: Potter had disarmed him and done humiliating things to him. Lily had tried to stop it from continuing, and in his shame and anger Severus had called her a filthy mudblood. The rest was unimportant.

Severus hadn't so much as said three words in a row to Lily or vice versa in over a year. At first it hurt, then it drove him crazy. Over the summer all he could think about was what she was doing, at school he wondered what she talked about and whom she studied with.

In potions class he worked by himself.

But after a while he accepted it. It no longer lingered in his mind…at least not until he closed his eyes.

* * *

The floor was cold. The bottoms of his feet sent shivers up his legs. Goosepimples covered his arms, but not from the temperature. All that clothed his naked body was a long black hooded robe. The material was thin. Severus believed it had probably been worn before.

Two other figures entered. Covering their faces were silver masks displaying feature that were not at all human-like. Their robes were also black but the material looked rich, thick, and velvety. Severus recognized one as Lucius.

--The Dark Lord is ready for you now.

Together they walked down a long hallway sparsely lit by thick ivory wax candles suspended in midair. Severus thought that if the two Death Eaters in front of him were not there he would be stumbling instead of walking in a straight line.

They reached the door. It opened instantaneously with no help from any human hand. Severus stared into the black hole of a room, trying to discern a face. _His_ face. None is visible. A voice beckons.

--Only he who is not yet marked need enter.

Lucius and the anonymous Death Eater disappeared down the hall. Severus stepped into the room. The door swiftly closed. Air swirled around Severus' robes and ankles. _This is it_, he thought.

--Hold out your arm.

He obeyed. There was no turning back.

--Are you having any doubts my boy?

Severus said nothing.

--Speak now!

He was afraid. Was this a test? Should he dare speak at all?

--Crucio!

A low guttural groan escaped him. He is tried to fight off the scraping burning feeling encompassing his body.

--Say the word and I will cease and you will leave. I cannot say what might happen after that.

Pressure began in his gut; his skin felt like it was peeling off. He panted, gasping for breath.

--Very well.

Suddenly his body returned to normal.

--Hold out your arm again.

This time a force other then his own that jerked his arm up. The tip of a wand pressed into his wrist. It felt like a needle was injecting him with acid. Blood streaked out form the base and started to form a shape. When it was complete the blood darkened into black, seeming to soak into the skin. The wand is removed.

--Go.

He was now one of them.


	6. Desire

**DESIRE**

Severus did not hold much more then a strictly quill-and-parchment post. He was in charge of bookkeeping, which was embarrassing, and research, which was interesting. Whenever the Dark Lord wanted to know about someone's private life, birth, or any kind of spell or segment of history, the request would travel down the grapevine eventually reaching Severus.

He was provided with books, bodies, and any other materials he should need. The deadlines were strict and the margin of error was non-existent. His colleagues viewed his job as unimportant and did not consider him on their level. Severus longed to go out on the field. For once he wanted to leave his desk. Big things wouldn't happen there.

There was only one way to do that. At least he saw only one way. No matter the quality of his work (and he made sure it was all quality) the Dark Lord gave him no praise. If he wanted change he would have to ask for it. He had mentioned this idea to Malfoy (who smirked at the thought of Severus fighting aurors) and had been warned that those who made demands of the Dark Lord often regretted it. Severus knew this. He would risk it. He wanted to prove himself. He wanted all the sneering fools in this life to see he had turned into quite an important person.

After turning in his latest report he had sent with it message that he would like to meet with the Dark Lord. Two days later he had gotten word that if he desired to see the Dark Lord in person than he would have to follow careful instructions, and if he were late he would find nobody waiting for him. It was also made clear should he attract any attention during his contact with the Dark Lord his life was liable.

Without hesitation Severus had accepted the terms. He was to use floo powder to travel to an abandoned muggle house in the country, where he would then go into the cellar and aperate to a condemned laundromat in Manchester. Beneath one of the tiles farthest from the front windows would be a portkey. This port key would take him to the place he was to meet the Dark Lord. Severus was determined he wouldn't commit any mistakes.


	7. The Face in the Fire

**THE FACE IN THE FIRE**

He was not late. He could not be late. He must be early.

No one was there. His heart began palpitating. His stomach turned. He had not failed. He was sure of it.

The house he found himself in was old, from the turn of the century at least. Dust covered everything without bias. The furniture cushions were home to mice and spider's webs laced the entire room.

Severus knew the house must have once been impressive. China figures and gilded ornaments decorated shelves and flowers, now long dead, sprouted from hand painted vases. Next to the armchair beside Severus was a cup that once been filled with tea.

_This house is haunted,_ thought Severus. Not with a ghost, but with a story untold. People had lived within these walls. This had been their home. These used to be their things. When they'd left, they'd left without any goodbyes. Severus couldn't help but infer that these people hadn't known at the time of their departure that they were in fact never coming back.

The dead room could not fool anyone of its condition, but remained dressed as if it were alive.

Severus hoped he would never face what the former inhabitants of this room had faced.

He hoped he had not failed.

A flash of light. Yellow and orange. Flames incinerated the village of spiders within the hearth. A bright glow cut into the surrounding darkness, shadows were suddenly drawn sharp.

--I admit I am surprised of your punctuality. Though it is true you have never failed me before.

Severus' spine tingled and his back stood rigid. Looking into the fire he saw the face of his Lord. He fell to his knees. His head bowed to the floor, but only for a moment.

--I am only thankful you give your presence to one so undeserving.

--I trust you are somewhat deserving, otherwise this has been a great waste of my energies and a poor example of my judgment.

In fear Severus threw his face on the floor once more.

--No my Lord, you were not mistaken in allowing to meet with me. I am certain it will not be in vain.

The face in the fire showed no emotion, good or bad. It looked paralyzed, solid, and impenetrable. When it next spoke, it spat.

--I have not got all night. I expect I should not have to wait for your sycophantic liturgy to end before I find out why it is I have granted you my presence.

Quickly Severus got back to his feet, standing as proudly as his could bear in the Dark Lord's gaze.

--I come to you with a request.

The lips of flame did not reply. Severus continued.

--I wish to leave my current post.

--And where do you desire to go?

Though his mouth was dry, Severus swallowed. He thought he might choke. When he spoke his words sounded smooth and certain.

--I want to fight.

There was a moment of silence when Severus thought his fate lay in the hands of the Dark Lord. At any moment his life could be brought to an end.

A horrible sound then reverberated against the walls. It chilled his body, all over his hairs stood on end. It was a laugh so vile that the mice in the room ran away, not to return for days.

--I pray you, do tell why I should even consider such a demand?

Severus' eyes shown black in the dark of the room, he had known this would be asked of him. He was ready.

--I have nothing to loose. No family. No friends. No love. I am yours. I will do whatever you should ask of me. I will risk my life and I will risk it graciously. I am at your disposal. I shall fight for you beyond certain victory.

As Severus said this his voice did not waiver, not once did he blink. His body was that of a soldiers' at attention. He conveyed nothing but sincerity and his faced remained solemn.

Again a silence took hold. The Dark Lord said nothing, as if waiting for his apostle to trip.

But the man before the flames appeared as severe as ever.

The voice of flame spoke for the final time that evening:

--I shall remember your words. And perhaps I shall someday call upon them.

With that the fire left as abruptly as it came, and the room was returned to the dark.


	8. Deterioration, pt 1

**DETERIORATION**

Days went by without any word from the Dark Lord. Severus was not surprised, though he couldn't help but feel disappointed. His comrades remained books and his underlings were nothing more than quills and bottles of ink. The plans of greatness he had often fantasized about during his school days did not seem to be materializing. Even though he was still a young man he felt pressed for time, and anxiety about his future wasn't at all alleviated when dinner invitations stopped coming from Malfoy Manor.

Being a Death Eater consumed him. With his mind focused solely achieving a more dignified position within this community he had completely forfeited the life that had once been all he knew.

It had been Bellatrix Lestrange that had made him forget about his future and return to the past.

--Oh, Snapey-apy, your assignment is due today! Professor's orders!

She'd cackled in that white-eyed manic way that always disgusted Severus.

--Yes. I know. How kind of you to remind me.

--If it's a moment late then…

Her mouth had hung open in a carnivorous grin. Severus had barely looked at her, immersed in his work.

--Yes?

--Off with your head!

When she'd laughed this time she'd become more animated, her body moving in zany spastic bursts with each sound of crazed glee. Few people nauseated him as much as Bellatrix Lestrange.

--Shut up before I vomit.

This had sent her face into a stony silence. When she had suddenly began speaking again it seemed her facial muscles could not decide between a smile and a frown.

--I was only making sure the death of your dear little mumsy wasn't spoiling your work. It would be simply tragic if something were to happen to you as consequence of your emotional frailty. I mean we're such good friends.

Before she'd been able to get the last sentence out a fit of laughter had overcome her. But this time Severus did not hear her.

Only one thing permeated his conscious: Is true my mother is dead?

* * *

Dressed in acid wash jeans, a brown jumper, and his black work boots (which were the only shoes he owned) he hoped he would not stand out.

His hopes were not fulfilled. Before he had reached the library he had attracted more than a few eyes and had been called a 'wanker' and a 'queer'.

Though it had only been two years since he had associated with muggle society everything around him seemed freakish and alien. Walking through the streets he had been so acquainted with in his youth was unsettling. Not one ounce of his being felt attached to his surroundings.

Inside the library everything was different. Books had held a sense of comfort for him. Reading was like having a conversation without having to talk to anyone. He could learn about people, places, and concepts, while still retaining his anonymity. And when he didn't want to know anymore he could close it and never open it again.

He had been to the library many times as a child. If his mother took him anywhere she took him there because everything was free. Of course the few books they did have on magic were laughable, pages of bad drawings and falsities. Only his mother's closet held books about actual magic.

Still he had spent hours here, all those years ago, hiding from the other children in some dusty corner reading about the fires of hell and knights. Once he began reading a book he thought was going to be about a prince but he soon found out it was just a muggle going on about how to successfully control people. This had probably been his favorite of the books he had read here.

But the purpose of this visit was not to read muggle books, and it was definitely not to reminisce about his past. All he wanted to know was whether or not Bellatrix had been lying to him.

She'd told him her family had a book passed down from generations that recorded the births and deaths of those of pureblood.

--And what do you know? She'd said, One day I flipped through the pages and it said a 'Snape' had died. In my excitement I thought it was you, but turns out I was a getting a bit a head of myself. Honestly, if I were you I'd be glad she died. Who wants a blood traitor for a mother anyway?

Just thinking about that conversation made Severus seethe with fury. His hands balled up into fists. For a moment his mind blanked.

--Hello? Son, are you all right?

An elderly man with watery eyes that were magnified 10-fold because of the glasses he wore smiled at Severus.

--I'm perfectly fine.

--Of course, who wouldn't be on such a splendid day? Sunny, not too hot, perfect for gardening. Do you happen to garden? I do and I can't get enough. It's my passion. Planted my first flowerbed when I was a wee lad and haven't stopped since. I enter competitions every now and again. My African violets are turning into quite the showstoppers, but I've gotten the most attention for my Madonna lilies, gorgeous angels they are, are you familiar with lilies? What is your favorite flower?

This man's incessant babbling was grating on Severus' every nerve. He could only take so much.

--There isn't a plant I'm not allergic to. In fact, I hate them all.

And with that he stomped away.

I daresay, thought the old man as he watched Severus escape from sight behind a corridor of bookshelves, the youth today have no appreciation for the art of conversation.


	9. Deterioration, pt 2

**DETERIORATION**

Right before him lay the words he had been most anxious to hear. The black letters infused into the flimsy newsprint stated exactly what he had dreaded: HIS MOTHER WAS DEAD. That was how the words felt as he read them. They were heavy. They were important. She had died on his birthday. It had happened only four days ago. His gut seemed to sink into his bowels.

**SNAPE** – _Eileen Prince Snape, 45, of Spinner's End, passed away on Wednesday January 9, 1980 at Warrington Hospital. She was born August 28, 1934 in Lancaster. In addition to her parents her late husband Tobias J. Snape precedes her in death. She is survived by her son Severus Tobias Snape, and her parents-in-law Richard and Mary Snape._

That was all there was. There was not even a picture, though Severus could never see his mum as clearly as he did now. Her thick hair in a black braid wound atop her head. How she would hum to herself if she thought no one else was in the room. The stern expression she usually wore. The way she would look at him when his father hit him. Those dark eyes that always said 'Don't be weak'.

He remembered when he showed her the Dark Mark. His father had barged in, given it one look and smacked him on the back.

--How many pints before ya made that mistake boy?

His mother only gave him a hard stare. Her face unmoving, lips pursed. Severus could barely look at her. He'd felt stupid. He could tell she wasn't impressed. When his father left all she said was

--You think that's going to make your life any easier, do you?

Severus' eyes started to ache as they gathered tears. Without regard for who might be watching he tore the obituary page out of the newspaper.

Trying to keep composed he swiftly walked to the front doors of the library, and almost knocking down a woman carrying an armful of books, ran back into the sunny street.

* * *

In the summer his house had been sweltering, a stagnant container of hot air. In the fall his house crawled with spiders and various winged insects. In the winter his house put up no defense and the only tolerable places were in front of the fireplace or under the thick quilts of his bed. In the spring his house always seemed to find at least five places to accommodate access for rain and sometimes it was so bad Severus kept his Wellingtons on even when he was inside.

The house had never been handsome and this wasn't helped by the fact the only time his father seemed to ever want to do any handy-work was when he was completely piss drunk.

Standing before the house today, so far removed from his boyhood, Severus looked upon it with a whole new level of disgust. Imagine if Lucius or Rabastan saw it. Even worse, Bellatrix. The things they would say. The things they would think. Only Lily had even been inside. Severus had watched her face anxiously, waiting for her to show some sign of discomfort. She never did.

He walked up to the front of the house and looked into a dark window. All the furniture, tables, chairs, couch, were in the same places they had always been. The clock on the wall above the radio was still in the same place it had been. The rug lay in its usual area, the pictures on the end table hadn't changed. Nothing had changed. Severus could almost imagine himself as a boy sitting in this room reading a book, listening to the radio, or watching his parents fight.

He tried the door. It was locked.

--Alohomora.

It opened.

Inside everything was still. The clock's ticking was the only source of movement, the only sound. _Being in the house is like being inside a pensive_, Severus thought. He half expected to see his past run into him.

But it hadn't.

* * *

The kitchen was cold. A tea bag floated idly in a half empty mug. Opened mail lay spread out next to it. Muggle mail. Severus stared at a mouse on top of the kitchen table eating the remnants of a forgotten muffin. He didn't bother shooing it away.

Upstairs there were two small bedrooms and a bathroom. He walked into the bedroom that had been his. All his old things were still there. All that was missing was what he had taken with him when he had left for good. _I never liked this room_, he thought.

His parent's room was right next to his. The thin walls of the house had never hid anything. He had heard so much come from that room that as a child he had gone out of his way not to enter it. At the moment he inspected the room like it was a strange person he'd heard a lot about. In places the wallpaper was peeling and the curtains had holes. Before he left he noticed how small the bed looked.

He'd supposed he'd known what he might find. He hadn't gone in the house to relive his childhood memories. He had come inside for answers. One answer in particular. And in the bathroom it waited to be found.

The floor was drowned in a pool of blood. The brightness of the red was darkening. Some of it was congealing. Footprints of he medics who had removed the body could be discerned. He couldn't believe no one had cleaned it up yet. _Probably because no one had been here to pay them_, he thought smirking, in spite of the situation. At least the bath water had been drained. Yet the inside of the tub remained stained with brown. A ring showing the water level had dried, circling the tub. The smell was horrible. Severus almost vomited.

* * *

After that he left the house. He felt numb. Almost like he couldn't move. He sat in a ball by the steps to the front door. He sat there for hours.

Around six o'clock a car drove up. An elderly couple got out and began in the direction of the house. They didn't immediately notice Severus or he them.

--Is that? One of them asked.

--I think it is. The other answered.

--Oh God in Heaven, do you think he's seen--?

--Yes. Maybe. The man answered.

The couple now walking with a bit more hesitance to their pace approach the house. Severus registered them. He said nothing.

--Severus? Is that you?

--What are you doing here?

--You should have phoned.

--Did you go inside? How did you get in?

--The funeral it tomorrow.

--Do you have a place to stay?

--You can stay at our house.

Severus listened to them listlessly. He answered any questions asked with a nod or shake of the head. He followed them without looking where he was going. He sat in the car and said nothing, staring at the seat upholstery. When he got to their house he was shown to the bedroom that had been his father's and lay awake on top of the blankets and pillows until the sun rose the next day.

* * *

At the funeral the casket remains closed and the only people in attendance are him and his grandparents. He knows his mother's father was still alive. It doesn't matter to him that he isn't there. It doesn't matter to Severus that _he's_ there.

After the casket has been lowered into the ground his grandparents take him to a café and order lunch. Mary and Richard take polite bites every now and then, but Severus doesn't eat or drink anything. Mary looks at him worriedly. Richard pretends not to notice. Right before the bill comes Mary says,

--The house is yours. It will obviously be taken care of before you move in, should you want to. That's why Richard and I stopped by last night. We were dropping off a key for a cleaning crew…

Mary's eyes glaze with tears.

--We mightn't have been close, your mother and I, but I know how happy she made your father, how much she meant to him, to you of course…

--Now Mary… Her husband says.

Severus isn't looking at them. He's looking at the waitress, wising she would come over and interrupt as soon as possible.

--Severus she left you the house, and as I am aware a little money too. It's in the will. I tired to contact you but I had no idea where you were. The last time she spoke of you she said you were in London at university.

Severus has to use all his strength not to burst into laughter. Still a small smile escapes.

--It is quite a relief we ran into you, although I wish you had come directly to us…

Severus begins to stop paying attention. The waitress comes. They pay the bill. They say their goodbyes.

A couple days later Severus moves into the house that is now his.

For a month whenever he has to use the bathroom he walks to pubs or restaurants.


	10. The Cost pt 1

**THE COST**

It is three o'clock in the afternoon and the day is the longest of the year. The weather is warm and people are doing what they usually do when coming to Diagon Alley: shopping, being rude, and running errands with important looks on their faces.

To an individual who frequents this area no overt evidence of the anxiety that has cloaked this community in the last eighteen months can be seen. But to the occasional visitors the tension is palpable.

Here and there adults chat causally, a mother watches her children eat ice cream on a patio table outside a restaurant, people exit and enter stores every so often. Though for a cloudless day like this one the number of people in the streets is few. Those who hurry into the doors of buildings look those who are standing outdoors at with a judgmental eye.

* * *

To Lily, Diagon Alley was a place she had always looked forward to visting. She loved the smells and the stores filled with things she still wasn't completely familiar with. Every time she came she saw something new and learned what it was called and what it could do.

Sometimes she would just sit and watch people. Though it had already been years since she had entered this world, at a certain level she still felt like an outsider. Kids would pass by her who she knew had grown up with broomsticks and talking letters. Some would play with gadgets she hadn't even seen until she was twice their age. She tired hard to adopt the lexicon and would causally refer to anything magical whenever she could. Her husband was even a pureblood wizard who had never visited a muggle house until she'd showed him hers. She was aware of her roots and continued to harbor a constant recognition of her disparities. It was like being in a foreign country where everyone speaks your language but no one shares your customs.

Today she and James had come to buy things for the baby that was due in only a few weeks. His nursery was already painted and furnished; everything that was needed was there. But Lily wanted to buy more magic toys and books for him. She wanted him live his entire life feeling _this _was_his_ world.

She stood outside Flourish and Blotts, bags hung over each shoulder, bouncing her leg. Where was James? She hoped he hadn't forgotten to meet her here. It was like him to get distracted and let hours go by. An irritated sigh escaped her. She didn't want to have to go tramping about looking for him for half an hour like _last_ time.

Getting annoyed, she turned to march down the street. If she had to she would search every shop in both Diagon _and_ Knockturn Ally, and oh, when she found him she'd let him know exactly _why_ it was when they were to go shopping 'together' they were going to stay 'together'.

Suddenly James came running up to her. A dark expression lingered on his face.

--Where have you been! You left me waiting here, not even sure if you were coming!

--I'm here. Let's go.

James started walking briskly; Lily glared at him for a moment, wanting to argue. He stopped and went back to her.

--Sorry I wasn't exactly on time. I got caught up.

Lily rolled here eyes. James added, glancing around before he did:

--Ran into a Death Eater.

This got Lily's attention.

--What happened? Are you all right?

--I'm fine. Saw a suspicious fellow. Thought I'd do a little spying.

He smiled.

--You didn't.

--No worries, they hardly knew I was there. They were up to the terribly sinister task of buying knotgrass and ginger.

Lily looked a bit relieved. James then gave a smirk.

--Best part for last. Guess who it was.

--You've got to be kidding! They are killing people! People that we know are dying and you're acting like this is some silly game!

Lily's outburst attracted attention from a woman who sat nearby.

--Lily it was _only_ Snivillus. It's not like I ran into Voldemort.

Upon having overheard this, the woman gave them an anxious look and left.

--What? You saw Severus? He's really a Death Eater?

--Have you been living under a confundus charm? Are you surprised? He's been up Malfoy's arse since third year. All his friends are--everybody who _knows_, KNOWS! Even wizards in America probably know, he never hid it, _you_ know that! I bet muggles know!

--He hasn't been seen doing anything…it isn't official.

Now James rolled his eyes.

--Well if it makes any difference I saw _it_.

--It?

--The Dark Mark. When he was getting his money out to pay.

--God.

She put her hand to her mouth, not out of shock but because one more piece of her not so long ago past had dissolved. Since leaving Hogwarts her life had seemed to have spun faster and faster, she felt that if she wasn't careful it would spin out of control. Her parents were dead; Petunia had disowned her, the threat of the Death Eaters, her unexpected pregnancy. And Severus was now without a doubt among the ones she had signed up to fight. In the recent years she had come to regret her behavior when she had refused to remain his friend. She thought that things had ended messily and she wished she'd been able to help him more. Maybe then he wouldn't be…

_Oh all these hormones_, she thought, _I'm going to cry again_.

James noticed her wet eyes.

--Seriously Lily?

--You didn't know him before.

Why did she feel so guilty? She couldn't control other people. _He'd chosen his way and she'd chosen hers_, she'd always told herself. She slammed her foot on the ground in anger.

--It's all him, all Voldemort! He's_infecting_ everything around us! Everyone is scared. When is it going to stop? How is it going to stop?

--Dumbledore says-

--I don't care! I feel like we're losing!

A few tears drifted down her cheeks. James held her in his arms.

--We're not.


	11. The Cost pt 2

**THE COST**

The first time he had visited Diagon Alley he had been three years old. At the time he still hadn't understood how he and his mother were different from his father or why the people in Diagon Alley didn't dress like the people in his neighborhood. What he did know was only _certain_ people could go there, and _he_ was one of those people.

The visit hadn't been much to remember. His mother had gone to have her wand repaired. Earlier in the week his parents had been fighting about how long a potato should be left in the oven. After his mother had stupefied his father, his father torn apart the house looking for her wand, and upon finding it, snapped it in two.

Severus would never know the reason he hadn't recived a birthday present that year was because his mother ended up having to buy a new wand.

What he remembered most from the visit were the toy broomsticks he saw hovering in a store window. He had seen a child around his age with jet-black hair grinning wildly, drowning in happiness as he stared at the broomstick clutched in his hands. The boy's parents had obviously just bought it for him. Severus had kept his wide hungry eyes on them until they'd entered Florean Fortescue's.

Severus would never know that the boy he'd seen that day had been James Potter.

The rest of his time in Diagon Alley that day was spent begging his mother for a broomstick. She hardly listened to him. Her problems were greater then trying to find ways to please her three-year-old son.

* * *

Today Diagon Alley did not remind him of his childhood visit. There was an eerie quality in the way the sun reflected in the store windows. People around him skittered in and out of shops, their eyes uncertain.

Severus walked calmly. He needn't worry about the things that these people fretted over. He was one of the Dark Lord's. He was safe.

The shop where he usually bought his most of his potions ingredients was empty except for the heavyset proprietress. She sat on a stool behind the counter lazily reading a trashy romance novel. The red lettering on the cover sparkled, underneath a barely clad witch and wizard sat in a castle snogging. Severus frowned._Hopefully she wasn't a pureblood_, he couldn't help but think.

When Severus shopped he spent no time browsing. He always knew exactly what he wanted and exactly where it was. Today was like any other.

As he selected the bezoars he thought looked the freshest, the shop's door opened. He didn't see the person who entered, and he could careless who it was.

About to leave, Severus went to the counter to pay. The shopkeeper looked up from her book resentfully. It was clear she didn't appreciate having to leave her reading to ring up a customer. Her slothful attitude did not impress Severus, and he thought he would give her a little motivation.

As he reached into the pocket of his robe for his money satchel he made sure to let his sleeve fall. When he handed her the money, he held it with his palm up, the underside of his arm exposed.

When the Dark Mark met her eyes her book dropped to the ground, and the lovebirds on the cover rolled into one of the castle walls. She immediately lowered her head and her hands trembled as they handed his money back to him saying he needn't pay, today it was on her.

All he said was 'fine' and looked unmoved, though inside he was ecstatic. _This_ was the sort of thing he could get used to.

Turning to leave he glanced around the store, somewhat curious to find out who had entered after him. Scanning the aisles he recognized a familiar face standing at a shelf parallel to the register. The face looked back at him, almost challenging. Severus' eyes narrowed. The familiar man moved his hand slowly inside of his robes. Severus did not have time for this. He still had to visit Knockturn Alley for certain rare items.

With one last look of disgust he swiftly exited, his black robes swirling behind.

James Potter would have to wait.


	12. Metamorphosis

**METAMORPHOSIS**

The caterpillar's goal is to build the vehicle needed to both further and improve its life. The creating the cocoon is the only purpose of the caterpillar. The cocoon is what will propel the caterpillar into a higher status of creature. The butterfly. It has both legs and wings. It is more agile, more impressive. Whether or not it is aware, the caterpillar has only one option: to become a butterfly. It is either that or death.

Severus broke free of his cocoon of inertia at the beckoning of his master. He finds himself in a room with no windows. In spite of this the room is extremely bright. In here nothing can hide.

This room is familiar to Severus, yet from his current perspective everything about it seems alien.

--What are you waiting for?!

A manic-faced woman standing behind Severus hisses. She views everything through wide eyes, whites visible all the way around.

--Have patience my dear Bellatrix, for he has not yet had nearly as much practice as you.

A black-robed man in the very back of the room produces this voice. His skin is sallow and his body is boney, thin and elongated. His eyes are black holes that his entire face sinks into. His hair barely grows, yet there still remains enough gray and white to sufficiently cover his head.

The frenzied woman, Bellatrix, stars at him lustfully. There are others in the room besides Severus and his companions.

In front of Severus is an elderly couple. They lay on the floor side-by-side, stiff as boards. Their eyes are closed. They seem to be in the depths of an unnatural sleep. Their faces hold smiles, suggesting both man and woman are dreaming blissfully.

Severus' eyes never leave them. As he holds his wand his knuckles turn white.

--Am I sensing hesitation Severus? The gaunt man asks in a playful voice, I thought this is what you _wanted_, to fight.

But as Severus stars at the sleeping couple, which are in fact his grandparents, he knows that this is not what he'd meant.

The man continues to speak:

--I thought you would be all to eager to do this for me. I thought you wanted to prove yourself. How long must I wait before you acknowledge I am no fool for taking your request as sincere?

Severus does not say anything. He does not face his master.

--He mocks you! HE MOCKS YOU MY LORD! I shall teach him not to dare mock as great a wizard as you! Cru—

--NO.

Bellatrix let out a whimper at her master's reprimand.

--No my Bellatrix, he will do what is asked of him. Won't you Severus? Surely you cannot pity this filth. Are you not ashamed? Resentful? It was they who spawned the vile muggle who contaminated your mother's bloodline. It is they who made you un-pure. They deserve to die. Allow them not one more breath, for they have taken too many as it is.

Severus brakes under his master. He knows what his master has said is true. He must fight this weakness he feels as he has always fought it.

Yes, these muggles are nothing more then a supplier of pain. Their ignorance and stupidity disgusts him. Hadn't they seen his mother's bruises on all their visits? Hadn't the noticed the empty cupboards, the empty bottles? Hadn't the felt the cold?

--_AVADA KEDAVRA_!

The elderly man is the first to die. Before the life leaves his body is back arches, his eyes flutter open, and then he crumples at once to the floor, dead.

--_AVADA KEDRAVRA_!

No time is wasted before the elderly woman's body follows the same course, as did her husband's.

When it was over Severus lowers his head, long greasy black hair covers his face, as if he was already running from what he's just done.

--Very good Severus. I knew you would not fail me.

--But my Lord! Bellatrix says, her arms jerking about in emphasis, He did not make them feel the pain! He did not—

--Shut up Bellatrix. Some of us concentrate on objectives, not frivolity.

At this Bellatrix seems to ball up, her head bowing to her master.

For the first time Severus speaks:

--Is there anything more you ask of me my Lord?

--No you may go.

--Yes my Lord.

Severus bows then exits the room.

He is no longer the same creature he once was.

* * *

--Don't touch me!

She smacks the woman's hand away. The woman, Alice, holds her freshly slapped hand protectively to her chest. She looks at the sweating and flushed redhead who just hit her apprehensively.

--Leave me alone! JAMES! JAMES! I WANT JAMES!

Alice nods at the red-haired woman.

--I'll get him, don't worry—

--NOW! GET HIM NOW!

Alice is slightly afraid to reply again so he resorts to only another quick nod before she leaves the room, reilived that she is not expected to reenter.

No one would blame Alice for feeling that way. For while there is nothing inherently uncomfortable about the room, the fact that it is presently occupied by a young mother in the middle of giving birth for the first time takes all the comfort out of it.

The young woman, who is soon to become a mother, is in fact just barely a woman. She is still so young her face has not fully matured. Youthful fat that will disappear in a few years still clings to its edges. Her wrinkles are all underdeveloped and at the moment her hair is pulled away from her face in two pigtails, almost as if to emphasize her youth.

She lies in the bed her back slightly propped up, her legs wide apart. A Healer sits between them, shifting her gaze from between the young woman's legs to her face.

--You have to push, the Healer says cheerfully.

--I CAN'T! James…WHERE—

The young woman is seized by a contraction.

--Good, good! Keep pushing; it shouldn't be much longer now.

The Healer's calmness does nothing but infuriate the young woman.

--James, he has to be—

She groans, throwing her head back.

--Lovely, I think I'm starting to see the head!

--WHAT ELSE WOULD IT BE?! The young woman screams. And again another contraction overwhelms her.

The young woman's eyes tear a little at the stress and pain of the situation. She looks at the doctor and says:

--Isn't there any magic you can do so—ARRGGHH

Her face crunches up and she involuntarily pushes again.

--I heard you threatened the staff with Unforgivables when they attempted the usual charms, scared them half to death!

The Healer laughs.

--ARRGGGHH

Sweat drips down the sides of the young woman's face, plastering stray hairs to her skin.

--You made it quite clear that you wanted a natural childbirth. Well it doesn't get much more natural then this!

The Healer chuckles.

--I CHANGE MY MIND I CHANGE MY—ARRGGHH!

--Lil-Lily?

A young man, a boy really, enters the room. The young woman, Lily, sees James and visible relief washes over her.

--JAMES!

The Healer's assistant, who has been sitting in the room, bored with this event which is so mundane to her, jumps up and bathes James in cleansing spells before she allows him any further. James pays the nurse no notice. All his attentions are toward his wife. He is not sure of what he should do or what is expected of him; he is afraid to go nearer.

--JAMES!

He runs to her side, even though she is only but a few steps away.

--Lily, how are you?

It is all he can think to say. She responds by clamping her hand onto his wrist, her nails digging into his skin as she pushes again.

The doctor sounds quite pleased when she says:

--Not much longer now!

--You said that ten minutes ago! Lily yells.

James looks at his wife and to the doctor with worry.

--Is everything all right? He asks the Healer.

--Oh yes, just dandy! You should have your son in just a few more pushes!

Lily looks at the Healer, eyes filled with rage.

--IF YOU SAY 'PUSH' ONE MORE TIME—

Lily's breath is taken away as another contraction hits. Her grip tightens around James' wrist until her knuckles are white. James does not notice this because he is so beside himself with worry.

--Almost there, the Healer says.

The assistant takes this as a hint to begin her preparations for the baby.

Three more contractions hit Lily before the doctor says with surprise:

--Ah! A boy, as if she was expecting something to find something different.

--Why isn't he crying?! Lily practically screams.

And as if on command a shrill little wail wavers through the air. The sound freezes both Lily and James into a somberness that replaces the anxiety on their faces.

As the assistant uses her wand to finish folding cloths on the table she has prepared for the baby, she smiles at the crying. The Healer holds the infant who is still covered in viscera and hands him to his mother.

Lily holds the baby boy-who-won't-stop-wailing in her arms.

--See? The Healer smiles, It took no time at all!

The young couple does not hear the Healer when she says this. Instead they lovingly gaze upon their child in wonder. Neither can believe what has just happened.

The butterfly has emerged from its cocoon.


	13. Newton's Third Law, pt 1

**NEWTON'S THIRD LAW**

* * *

_Law III: To every action there is always opposed an equal reaction: or the mutual actions of two bodies upon each other are always equal, and directed to contrary parts._

_--Sir Isaac Newton, from '__The Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica'_

* * *

"…_admit that the waters_

_Around you have grown_

_And accept it that soon_

_You'll be drenched to the bone._

_If your time to you_

_Is worth savin'_

_Then you better start swimmin'_

_Or you'll sink like a stone"_

_--Bob Dylan_

* * *

We see the top of a wooden table. Large hands come into view. One holds an empty glass. The other pours into it a rich chestnut colored liquid, stopping as soon as it reaches halfway up to the glasses' brim. Then the hand, which holds the glass, disappears from view. Its partner, the one that pours, is left lying on the table, balled up into a fist. 

Swiftly but not forcefully, the hand with the glass comes back down to the table. The glass is empty. The hand not occupied with holding the glass grabs a dark label-less bottle and fills the glass. The glass rises up and away from us, then again returns, devoid of its contents.

And the ritual continues, the hands, the glass, the bottle, the drink. They all seem connected within a balanced scheme of unity. All the motions flawless. The hands never faltering.

The hands are large and sturdy. The fingers are thick, masculine. They do not appear stumpy because of their length, but their length does not make them slender.

The skin that stretches over the hands is pale and creamy. It would almost negate their masculine qualities because the complexion seems so fine, so delicate. But the dirt, cuts, and the overall unhygienic condition of the hands abolish all idea of femininity.

The fingernails are boarded in crud, which looks almost black. The debris under and around the nails is a combination of all natural materials: dust, dirt, oils, and blood. It is the blood that gives the dark color to the debris. It is the blood that makes in stick to the fingers so adamantly, the proteins drying and settling, staining the hands.

The hands continue to work in their assembly line of pouring and emptying until the hand that pours has nothing left to pour.

* * *

--This is a _muggle_ neighborhood. 

--Marvelous. You're not blind. I was beginning to wonder.

--Shut your mouth. Why would they be in a muggle neighborhood anyway?

--Well for one, they _are_ mudbloods. If you didn't already know, this is the sort of place mudbloods come from.

--Um, yes. I suppose.

The two Death Eaters stand on the corner of a quiet street. Eerily quiet. There are not even birds about. Not even the leaves in the trees move. It is utterly silent.

The midday sun is out, making everything seem extremely bright, almost fluorescent. The greens and blues are the most intense. The grass looks like a strangely dyed carpet. This place is creepy. It almost looks like a real neighborhood, _almost._

The Death Eaters are dressed in black robes. They both have black hair, although the taller of the two wears his hair a bit longer, to his chin, and it is more greasy, stands of it clumped together.

This taller one is also more pale then his comrade. His skin contrasts so much with the black robes his appearance is almost garish. And his face has an unreadable quality that chills you at the sight of it, the eyes of lackluster onyx bypassing all your defenses.

Meanwhile, the young man next to him has black hair approaching fluffy and a tanned, ruddy, complexion. He seems to have no threatening qualities—other then the fact that he is dressed in such ominous clothes and standing next to such a frightening man.

The two begin to walk down the street.

--Snape, do you have the address? I'm afraid I might've lost it…

--145 Alabaster Avenue, Brier-Thornton, Coventry, BN9A 5SY, United Kingdom.

--Wow! You memorized it?

The shorter Death Eater looked up to the taller one with something akin to pride. The tall Death Eater only glares at him.

--You were not asked here in order to harass me with pointless conversation. We have serious business here. I suggest you shut up.

They continue to walk.

--Snape, stop, I think this is it.

The taller boy turns around and sees the shorter boy stopped in front of a brown brick house. The address is checked, confirmed. This is 145 Alabaster.

The taller boy walks to the front steps, the shorter boy not following him.

--What are you waiting for? A prize?

The shorter boy shakes his head and hesitantly trots to the front door, where the taller boy now is.

--Wand out. Says the taller boy.

The shorter one pauses, and then materializes a wand from the depths of his robes. He looks up at his comrade.

--I…I've never, er, _killed _anyone before…

--Well in ten minutes that will no longer be true, will it? Open the door.

The short boy says nothing at first, then, with his wand pointed to the door:

--Alohamora.

The door opens. The two Death Eaters walk though.

There are screams.

* * *

Snape woke up practically hyperventilating, eagerly consuming the air around him, like he had just been saved from drowning. His body was coated in a thin film of sweat. Only a sheet covered him. All other bedding lay in a pile on the floor. 

It had been almost two years since Regulus Black had disappeared.

Nightmares had plagued him since. They were not a frequent occurrence. Sometimes months would pass with nights of which he did not dream. Then these bouts would happen. Like puffy little black storm clouds haunting his thoughts. What troubled him most about the dreams wasn't the reminder of the sins he had committed, but the presence of Regulus Black. He'd never even liked him.

When he had found out that Regulus Black was a Death Eater, an actual, official Death Eater, he'd been displeased to say the least. For one thing, Regulus hadn't even finished school, and from what Severus could recall of their days at Hogwarts together, Regulus had been a terrible student and had always tired to get Severus to do his work for him. Apart from that, he was the brother of Sirius Black, and if ever a person deserved to be tortured to death, it was he. Over the years he had come to view anyone with the last name 'Black' as unstable, slightly insane, and moronic. He had regarded Regulus as the stupidest of the lot.

Of course Narcissa Black was the exception. She was classy, well mannered, and composed, everything her relatives were not. He'd heard of Andromeda, the one who threw it all away and married that muggle-born. He guessed she was probably mad as the rest of them.

He knew the Blacks were purebloods, but maybe they were _too_ pure. He had seen their family tapestry with its slogan 'Toujours Pur'. _Always pure, _ha! He thought it should say '_Inbred Lunacy Abundant_'.

Severus watched his naked chest rise and fall. He looked at the clock at his bedside. It was midnight. He had only been asleep for two hours. The nightmare had seemed twice that long.

The first time Regulus had failed to show up to a meeting Snape had thought nothing of it. The second time he'd laughed, the foolish boy. The third time he thought perhaps Regulus had run away, scared, maybe to that brother of his. After a month passed with no sign of him Severus' curiosity had taken over. Whenever he saw a puzzle before him he could do little to stop himself from trying to solve it. For that was why he'd gone into the Shrieking Shack those years ago.

This was when the nightmares had started. Every dream was nothing more than an amalgam of different assignments he'd had, and places, and people he knew. No two dreams were exactly the same. But Regulus was always with him. And the boy always appeared the novice, the innocent, unsure. An eerie shadow of what Severus had been.

Snape hated these dreams. He always woke up sweating.

He calmed himself, resenting all this thoughts. Hesitantly he went back to sleep.

* * *

--Severus. 

Today was the first time the Dark Lord had ever addressed him by his first name at a meeting, in front of his entire fellow Death Eaters.

Severus' eyes and ears stood at attention, alert for whatever should come next. His stomach churned.

--Severus. You are no longer needed…here…

Goosepimples erupted on his arms and legs. Chills covered him. He could see Bellatrix smirking. Others looked anxious. He had seen this before. He was going to die.

--Come again, my lord?

--It is necessary for you to leave us.

Severus was afraid. He wondered what dying would feel like. How long it would last. Bellatrix seemed to be about to fall out of her seat with amusement. Lucius avoided his gaze. _Oh I am a dead man._

--Aren't you at all curious to know where you are going?

Severus could barely utter reply. His lips and face felt numb. But he knew silence was not an option.

--Yes my lord. I would be very grateful to know where it is I am to go.

At this moment Severus knew no one was looking at him…apart from Bellatrix and the Dark Lord. He felt like a lobster held over a pot of boiling water.

--You are to go to Hogwarts School and take up a teaching position in order to assume the guise of a professor. I do not care in what subject. You are to spy on Albus Dumbledore.

The room fell into a deep impenetrable silence. Instead of fear, everyone including Severus felt nothing but shock at what the Dark Lord had just said.

--You say nothing. Should I take it as a sign of insolence or indolence?

--No! No, neither my lord. I will do as you ask…but—

Severus' throat caught. How could he have let that last word escape?

--Yes?_ But_? Do you have any qualms? Doubts? Say them now, or I shall hesitate to dismiss you with this task.

Severus inhaled. Exhaled. Spoke.

--It's, I was only wondering how I am to get that ridiculous old badger who calls himself 'the Headmaster' to hire _me,_ a supposed Death Eater. I had the impression he fancied mudbloods and mediocrity.

Voldemort smirked at the comment; pleased by the insult Severus had paid to the Headmaster. Others in the room took this as a sign that they too should murmur chuckles. Severus began to breathe easy. The zone of safety was not far now.

The Dark Lord looked directly at him, their eyes meet in an unbreakable bond.

--I am sure you will find a way to do what is asked of you. For you always have before.

Severus nodded. He bowed his head as a sign of agreement.

What the Dark Lord had said was the truth.

* * *

"_For he that gets hurt_

_Will be he who has stalled_

_There's a battle outside_

_And it is ragin'._

_It'll soon shake your windows_

_And rattle your walls."_

_--Bob Dylan_


	14. Newton's Third Law, pt 2

**NEWTON'S THIRD LAW**

* * *

_Clara facieque dixit: Ave Maria /And with shining mien he said, Hail Mary_

_Clara facirque dixit: Ave Maria/ And with shing mien he said, Hail Mary_

_Cuncti simus concanentes: Ave Maria/ Let Us Sing Together, Hail Mary_

_Cuncti simus concanentes: Ave Maria/ Let Us Sing Together, Hail Mary_

_--Anonymous, from the Red Book of Vermell_

* * *

The first thing the eyes of Lily Evans had ever seen, though she was never to remember it, were the green walls of the hospital room in which she had been born. The last thing the eyes of Lily Evans saw was the blinding green light of the curse of death, that she hadn't time enough to recognize. 

At that moment the bridge between 'life' and 'death' had been traversed in instantaneously. The trappings of her mortal-being had been ripped from the true essence of electric energy that had been the quidditas of Lily Evans.

In the midst of dying she had been reborn into something that wasn't just Lily Evans. It was bigger then Lily Evans. It could no longer be called 'Lily Evans'. That label had suddenly ceased to be accurate.

The first thing this altered state of being saw was no a single interpreted vision, feeling, or sound. It perceived an ever-expanding range of energies in numerous forms. And then, without thinking or trying, what had used to be Lily Evans shot out into billions upon billions of immeasurable particles. Throughout the galaxies of the universe the particles dispersed and evaporated.

Lily Evans did not exist anymore. She was never to exist again. She would now be everywhere and nowhere. She would never be gone. But she would never return.

Lily Evans was Dead.

* * *

That morning had been like any other fall morning. 

A slight crispy chill accented the air. It stampeded through glass and squeezed through doorways. The Potter's did not notice the chilly infiltration. Their little home in Godric's Hollow was toasty verging on tropical. Lily had made sure of it. To her, nothing was more uncomfortable than being cold. She hated shivering. And she _loathed_ sharing blankets.

Though nearly all the local birds had already left for their annual southern holiday, a few reluctant robins had delayed their departure. Everyday, as the sun would come up, they would begin gossiping. Their twitters back and forth were like an alarm clock for Lily. She had begun to count on them to welcome her into each new day.

As she cautiously opened her eyes the mellow morning light tried to bombard its way past the thick bedroom curtains. She tucked her knees to her stomach, pulling the bed covers tighter around her.

She wanted to go back to sleep. She was tired of being stuck in this house. Her days felt monotonous. Every room felt stale, the air, used. Not being able to leave the house had taken its toll on James too. That was why she had tired so hard to appear happy, pleasant. He'd called her 'an optimistic idiot', but neither of those descriptions was true. She was not optimistic, at least she hadn't felt so these last few days, and she certainly was not an idiot.

Turning, she looked at her sleeping husband. Even after all the time that had passed, her mind sometimes danced in confusion when she realized she was married to James Potter, the boy who she had made a hobby of hating for so many years. His face looked so smooth, so calm and relaxed. Right now it held qualities that had recently become rare. As she was mentally comparing his likeness to that of a marble statue, his eyes shot open.

--Caught you.

He grinned playfully but his eyes remained dull.

--You did not. I actually caught _you_.

Lily smiled, noticing the sleep from last night not quite gone from his face.

--I almost forgot you could look like that… She said.

--Like what?

--Like you weren't afraid of anything.

Lily wouldn't take her eyes off him. _She_ suddenly felt afraid; afraid she might've upset him. In the past year every word, conversation, and look has caused her anxiety. She was beginning to think even a blade of grass would make her jump.

Then, almost reluctantly James said,

--I've always been afraid. I'm just not so good at hiding it anymore.

--…oh…James…

Lily wanted to cry. Barely awake and already holding back tears. _This_ was why she had wanted to go back to sleep. Everyday was a weight thrust upon her. She hadn't been happy in a long time.

There were many things they both wanted to say to each other, but they'd already said them a hundred times before. The words hadn't helped. So they'd stopped saying them.

Instead they touched each other, at a last ditch attempt to communicate. It was all they had left.

They began to have passionless, almost lethargic sex. They wanted to be close. They wanted to do _something_. They wanted to be distracted. It had become a ritual, because neither was sure that they would have tomorrow.

Everyday could be The Last Time.

James was always on top. Lily liked it this way. She saw James as her shield. While this need for dependency upset her, it also calmed her. She supposed everybody needed a post to lean on, a person to believe in, to look for in the fog. James was her safety.

He hadn't showered in two days. She could tell. The odor of his body swirled around her. There was a time when she would've been disgusted or put off. Now she welcomed it. She craved it. He reeked of life, and she liked it this way.

--James…

--Lily…

It's a prayer and they are praying. When they kiss they don't close their eyes. They want to remember, to not think of other things. Lily is surprised when she feels herself begin to come. She hadn't thought she would. She hadn't thought she could.

When the orgasm hits she can't keep her eyes open. All she sees is black. And in that moment of physical ecstasy there is a parallel feeling of fear. She can't help imagine: Is this what Death looks like?

The tears she has held back since she'd first woken up trickled past her ears and fall in her hair and drop into little damp marks on the bed sheet. James kisses her cheeks. Not in a romantic or lustful way. It is a gesture of kindness.

--Lil, Lil, Lil, I love you.

--James, I know, I know, I know.

They ended in each other's arms. Instead of looking like young lovers they looked like little refugee children huddled together, staring out of the barbwire fence of a prison camp.

James had his eyes on the ceiling and said,

--We should go check on Harry. He might be awake.

--Yes. You know he's really doesn't cry as much as he used to. I remember when we couldn't get through a night without him waking us up…

Lily swallowed a mouthful of spit she had been rolling around with her tongue and added,

--What do you think he'll be like next year?

There was a pause. James knew what she really is asking, what she really _wanted _to ask.

--We'll just have to wait around and see.

Lily felt James' pulse through his thin cotton shirt. Their bodies warmed one another.

--I think I'll go see Harry right now. I have a feeling he's probably awake. He'll be hungry. He always is.

Lily detached herself from James and left the bedroom in the T-shirt she slept in, not bothering to put anything over her knickers. James watched her leave. He heard her cooing to Harry, who apparently had been up. James could hear his son giggle. A spitty little baby giggle that not even toddlers can imitate.

He knows he will die for them.

But only if he has to.

* * *

**BREAKFAST**

--Today is Halloween Harry! Happy Halloween! Can you say 'Halloween'?

--Pahh-eee-ha, ahh ya. Bah ya.

--Pumpkin?

--That sounds nothing like 'pumpkin'.

--Dit dot ahhh hah!

--Daddy?

--That sounds nothing like 'daddy'.

--You just weren't listening.

The Potter family sat at the kitchen table. Their breakfast that morning had been eggs and toast. Discarded plates with the remnants of their meal decorated the table. In the center was a pumpkin. A baby was seated in a high chair between Lily and James. Both parents had all their attentions focused on the little boy, who seemed to be basking in his parents' interest. Occasionally book ended by wide smiles and head nodding, the baby would chortle sounds that tired to be words.

--He hasn't said his first word yet. Lily pointed out to James for the seventh time that morning.

--Give him a chance. I'm sure he just doesn't know which one to pick yet.

After James said this he glanced slyly at Harry and added,

--Hey, let's make a deal. If you say 'daddy' before 'mummy' I'll buy you a broomstick, and I'm talking a _real _one, not like that silly thing you got from Uncle Sirius. Got it? Is that a deal? Let's shake on it.

James grabbed the baby's hand and gave it an exaggerated shake.

--Feeh! Eh!

Lily snorted,

--Yes, I'm sure Harry got all of that.

--Oh I know he did. All I have to do his look in his eyes like so-

James comically leaned into Harry's face, their noses almost touching, and stared into Harry's eyes. Harry was annoyed by this strange behavior and hit James' face with one of his little hands. James' glasses went crooked and Lily was beside herself with amusement.

--Very intelligent eyes, James said, Just as I suspected.

--I'm sure. Lily looks at James from over her mug of tea, grinning.

--I should know, James said, They look exactly like his mother's.

The two young parents gaze at each other, thinking a million different things, but at the nucleus of their gaze is nothing but love.

Harry, displeased that suddenly neither of them seem to be paying any notice to _him_, screwed up his face in frustration. The half empty bowl of porridge in front of Harry shakes and flips offs the tray of his high chair, and onto the table, where is splatters everywhere.

James and Lily start laughing. Shortly Harry does too, thinking that what he has done_ must _be very funny if his parents are laughing. And once again he is the center of attention.

--No doubt Harry's letter from Hogwarts is already in the mail. James said proudly.

--As if there were any doubts about _that_. Lily smiled as he tickled Harry.

Then she finished her tea, basking in the family moment, never feeling more connected in her life. Regardless of the happy breakfast, which she was so thankful had been _happy _this morning; much unlike yesterday's, dark thoughts riddled her brain. She wouldn't speak them aloud. She wouldn't tell them to James. And even though Harry wouldn't understand her words, she would not even tell him.

_You might not get the chance to go to school_, she thought, _We might not get the chance to see you if you do._

* * *

**LUNCH**

When they had been children Lily and Petunia would go out in their mother's garden and pretend to be flowers. At first Petunia had been a bit dubious about the game, which had been invented by Lily. But after much coxing she had been willing to give it a try.

They would sit amongst the orchids and dig their small hands into the dark soil and pretend their fingers were roots. Lily would lift her face to the sun and drink the beams while Petunia constantly kept a look out for other neighborhood kids. Already at eight she had been mortified to be seen engaging in fantasy.

Lily would always say things like, 'I do hope it rains this afternoon, I'm quite thirsty.'

Petunia would always say things like, 'Well if you're thirsty then go inside. Mummy's just made lemonade.'

_Poor Petunia. She never had been good at make-believe_, Lily thought to herself as she lay on the sofa and reminisced about her childhood. A large gray cat was curled up on her chest. Remus had given the cat to her and James as a sort of house-warming present. Then it had only been a tiny kitten. Now it was a big fat thing that frequently tired to steal Harry's food. She stroked the cat's back. It purred loudly. She was glad to have it.

The house was quiet. Harry was sleeping in his room, down for his afternoon nap. James was taking a bath, after Lily had reminded him that he smelled. She hoped Sirius might visit. Or Peter. Or Remus. Or Dumbledore. Or anyone in The Order. _Hell, _Lily thought_, I'd even be happy to see _Petunia_ right now_.

The sisters hadn't really been on speaking terms lately. With both their parents' dead, they no longer had anyone forcing them to be together. Their last few meetings had been somewhat heated. Petunia had thought Lily was married to a deadbeat who offered no security. Lily had thought Petunia was married to a pig that offered no affection. Both disapproved of what the other was doing with her life. And when Petunia had had the _nerve _to mention Harry and what was best for him, saying _'You asked for this trouble! You should've done something proper, but no, that wasn't good enough for you! Always more, more, more. And now you've spot lit yourself in a community of lunatic criminals! And you have a _baby_! You should let someone else have him, put him up for adoption! You and that husband of ours can't—'_

That's as far as Petunia had gotten, because that was when Petunia had seen Lily raise her wand. On the tip of Lily's tongue had been '_crucio_', an Unforgivable curse that caused immense pain. Lily hadn't been thinking clearly. But before the command had the chance to escape her lips, James had walked in, carrying Harry and asking if Petunia was going to stay for lunch.

Of course she hadn't. And even now, Lily felt ashamed that she had almost hurt her sister. Even if her sister had hurt her first.

Lily's stomach growled. It was time for lunch.

* * *

**DINNER**

That night they had had dinner in the living room.

Both James and Lily had been bored and hadn't looked forward to another predicable dinner at the kitchen table. And it made no difference to Harry where he ate. He would've been happy eating his chocolate pudding and cheese toast (which, much to Lily's dismay, seemed to be _all_ he would eat) sitting in the bathtub. So the three of them had sat on the living room floor, with their dinner laid out on end tables and ottomans.

Lily and Harry had drunk pumpkin juice and James had drunk the last of the butterbeer that Sirius had brought on his last visit. Both Lily and James ate roast beef sandwiches and chips. And when Harry and decided he no longer wanted his toast, James had begun giving him the rest of his chips.

During their last meal together they hadn't talked about anything interesting. Much was,

--How was your bath?

--Good.

Or,

--Did you finish that book you were reading?

--Almost.

And,

--James stop feeding Harry chips. His diet's already bad enough.

--No, if he's going to be a championship quidditch player he's going to need to eat lots and lots of chips. The potato is a very important food for quidditch players.

--Oh, no doubt….I don't know what I was thinking…I said stop! Harry stop eating those!

After dinner Lily had tea and played with Harry. James drunk out of a flask filled with fire whiskey while Lily wasn't looking. He knew she didn't think it was wise for them to drink at a time like this. Who knew when trouble might arrive? When something might happen? But the day had been peaceful so James hadn't felt a need to worry about it.

After an hour or so Harry dozed off on the sofa as Lily read to him from the 'Tales of Beetle the Bard'. She had kept reading after Harry had fallen asleep because she knew James was listening. When she finished the story she had put the book down and looked at James. He'd had a somber expression.

--My mum used to read me that story. He'd said.

Then Lily had put Harry up in his cot for the night and come back downstairs to be with James. They sat together on the sofa, Lily's legs tucked underneath her, James' head in the nook of her left shoulder. If someone had seen them, they would've thought that they were waiting for something. Like a train.

Not even a half an hour later, their train came.

* * *

Green light. She hadn't seen it full on, but it had reflected up the staircase case and hit the upstairs walls. 

_James was Dead. Was James Dead? James was Dead. No, maybe not, no stupid, he's Dead, but he was just Alive, and now he's just Dead. Just like that? Yes, just like that. James was Dead. No, YES._

Lily's mind raced but she listened to none of it. She couldn't. She hadn't the time. Harry, Harry, she had to get Harry. Harry _mustn't _die. He_mustn't _die like James just had.

James was Dead.

Oh this couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening. They hadn't done anything_ wrong_. WHAT HAD THEY DONE WRONG?!

Her heart beat so fast she almost couldn't breathe. Her legs and feet seemed to be working on their own. The short hallway felt endless. Harry's room was at the end. She ran inside, thankful she had made it. Now all she needed to do was get Harry, get the portkey—

The door burst off its hinges, wood cracked and splintered. But all Lily had heard was a horrible high-pitched laugh that had made her want to vomit.

She leaned over Harry's cot, and using all the bravery she possessed, looked into the face of the madman and almost screamed,

--Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!

Tears streaked her face; she thought she was going to wet her pants. Her heart beat so violently it hurt.

The man looked past all this, like it wasn't even there, and said coldly,

--Stand aside you silly girl…stand aside now.

_NO NO NO, _every cell in her body screamed. This wasn't going to happen, Harry wasn't going to die.

--Not Harry, please no, take me, kill _me_ instead---

The man only stood there. Then begun to descend closer upon his prey.

Lily felt suddenly afraid she couldn't protect her son. Whatever she could do wouldn't be enough. She felt weak. Scared.

--Not Harry! Please…have mercy…

But the thought of James dead in the living room, his lifeless body lying there. Never again to walk or talk. The once so animated boy who had always been seen _and _heard. Her husband. Her love.

Then surprisingly the thought of Severus, a poor boy who had never won but always lost, who had become her friend, her best friend, who she had wanted to help, but couldn't, who had been pulled from her…

And all the people that had been killed. All the things that had been destroyed.

She had felt rage, sadness, depression, but most of all love. She felt a love for all the victims, because she knew that this shouldn't have happened to them, no matter who they had been or what they had done. What she was feeling now…this shouldn't have _ever _touched them.

She said clearly, without tears or anger,

--Have Mercy!

For a second she believed maybe he would. _Maybe I am an Optimistic Idiot, _she suddenly thought with pleasure, _But I don't care_.

She shielded Harry and didn't sway for a moment.

Not even when the Death Curse slammed into her with the rocket force.

The first thing Lily had ever seen, though she was never to remember it, were the green walls of the hospital room in which she'd been born.

The last thing Lily had ever seen was a blinding green light, that she hadn't time enough to recognize.

* * *

"_The curse it is cast_

_The slow one now_

_Will later be fast_

_As the present now_

_Will later be past"_

_--Bob Dylan_


	15. In the Light of Mourning

**IN THE LIGHT OF MOURNING**

_--No one thinks you should be my friend._

_Lily ignores him. She walks ahead, and points into the distance at an empty spot by the edge of the lake._

_--It looks nice over there._

_Lily walks hastily, her robes fluttering at her ankles. He looks sullenly after her._

_--Did you hear me?_

_Lily doesn't say anything, walking faster. He begins to quicken his own pace. When they are shoulder to shoulder he says,_

_--Why won't you answer me? Is it because you don't think I can handle it? Because I can._

_They reach the grassy spot that Lily had pointed to. Lily sits down and begins smoothing out her robes, picking off any lint she sees. He sits by her, but at a distance._

_--Fine. Don't say anything. He says sharply._

_Lily turns to him with a stony face._

_--What do you want me to say?_

_He looks at her blankly._

_--No one thinks you should be my friend. He repeats._

_--Yeah, I know, you always say that. It makes me wonder…_

_Lily pauses, like she might add something, but she holds herself back. She begins ripping grass up from the soil by the handful and throwing it into the lake._

_Severus says defensively,_

_--If you don't want to be my friend you don't have to be. I don't need your pity._

_Lily groans._

_--All you do is feel sorry for yourself, I'm sick of it! I don't know what you wantme to say. I don't know what you're trying to say. Are you trying to get me to say that I don't like you? So you can add me to the list of people who've done you wrong? All I've ever wanted to do was be your friend. I always stick up for you, and I have to do it a lot, believe me. I am your friend. I want to be your friend. I like you. How many times do I have to tell you? How many times do I have to prove it?_

_Lily is fuming, digging her hands into the earth and focusing her eyes on the water._

_He is silent._

_Lily picks up where she left off,_

_--And most of the time you just sulk. Whenever we're together you sulk and try to tell me why I should be sulking. There is more to life than feeling sorry for yourself, and I don't pity you! But you do drive me mental! You have so much and you seem to care about so little. That's the only thing I pity about you! I could give you a galleon and you'd say it was a sickle._

_--That's not true, He says._

_Lily snorts,_

_--Okay. Sure._

_They sit in silence. Neither looks at the other. Each seems to be in a personal sphere of reality._

_Then without warning,_

_--Lily. I… I--you're, you're just my best friend, all right!_

_He covers his face, ashamed by his confession. Lily turns to him, her eyes alert, her face still._

_--I am?_

_Severus does nothing._

_--Oh well I…I, well… Lily mumbles bashfully, I've, even though… I—I've sort of always considered you my best friend. I mean, you know me better than anyone else here, and, I mean…I just never thought you'd think of me, as you know, a best friend. You always have this distance around you…I figured you didn't…_

_He removes his hands from his face; his eyes immediately meet Lily's, her emerald eyes borrowing into his onyx ones. A winter wind begins to blow and an owl feather drifts from the sky into her red tangles. Severus' hand quickly picks it out with delicate precision. Lily watches him._

_--Thanks._

_--Yes. Well._

_He twiddles the owl feather between his fingers. Lily smiles with a carefree quality that has previously been absent._

_--Thanks best friend._

_He stops toying with the feather. He looks at her cautiously, hopefully._

_Lily laughs,_

_--I thought I'd get used to saying it. I mean, since it's been decided. With your permission of course._

_He smiles._

_--Yeah. Okay…_

_Best friend._

_He is suddenly illuminated. He is glowing._

_Lily flops onto her back, her hair spilling about her shoulders. He just sits by her side, like a guardian of some sacred treasure._

_--Do you think we'll be friends forever? Like, even after we graduate and get jobs and stuff? Lily asks, as she watches the marble white sky, thick with snow clouds._

_--Yes. Without a doubt. He answers with confidence._

_This pleases Lily._

_There is silence. He starts picking at his nails._

_--You know, he says, I remembered that today's your birthday._

_Lily glances up at him._

_--So, I guess now we're both thirteen… He says stupidly._

_--Yes. That's how it works. Lily says with a hint of laughter._

_--I, uh, I was thinking, I don't have any present for you or anything, but I could get you something soon, maybe Hogsmeade, uh—_

_--I don't want anything._

_--Oh._

_Severus looks puzzled and slightly disappointed._

_Then noticing this, Lily says,_

_--No, I changed my mind. I know what I want. I want you to wait for the snow with me._

_Lily tugs on his robes and he falls from his rigid sitting position. He is lying next to Lily and looks extremely uncomfortable._

_--It won't snow for hours. We'll freeze. He complains._

_--No, it's going to snow soon and I want to be here when it does. I want to see it come down. I want to pretend like I'm the ground and it's going to cover me up and turn me white._

_He listens to her with respect and confusion, like she is a talking sphinx._

_With each passing moment he seems less apprehensive about being this close to Lily. Lily looks right at home._

_--Okay. Fine. Since it's your birthday. Happy Birthday Lily! Now let us freeze to death, you know, to make sure neither of us has to live thorough another one of these ridiculous celebrations._

_Lily rolls her eyes, then says,_

_--Look!_

_A small white speck is delivered from the alabaster clouds. Soon more snowflakes follow._

_They fall through the air. They twirl and dance. They reign over the air and land. They melt on the warm skin. They begin to accent the world in white._

_--This is the best birthday ever. I love the snow. When I was little I thought it was magic. How the snow transforms everything…I mean, I guess I still do but after all the…_

Lily's voice fades.

A signal to let him know he is leaving.

Then the color warps, turns, inverts, deteriorates.

Then the image blurs, spins, abstracts into unrecognizable blobs.

Then there is nothingness, or instead, a void filled with gray.

Then Severus finds himself in Dumbledore's office.

Trembling.

* * *

Dumbledore knows what he has to do. 

He doesn't want to do it.

He knows what it feels like to constantly suffer the heavy hollowness of regret. He knows what it feels like to be sickened by lust. He knows what it feels like to occupy the lonesome office of buried love. He knows the rotting effects of obsession.

How it will decay you until you are you no longer.

Dumbledore knows what he must do.

* * *

Severus can feel his heart palpitate. His palms are sweaty. He bounces a leg uncontrollably beneath his desk. He's been waiting all day. He can't wait any more. He won't. 

He tells his class to leave, to finish their essays for homework.

They look at him hesitantly before hurrying from the dungeon classroom. Severus feels like it takes forever for the last student to disappear. When the room has been emptied he waits a few minuets. He wants the halls to himself. But he can only wait a few moments before he jumps to his feet and strides swiftly out of the room.

He heads straight for Dumbledore's office. He's memorized the headmaster's schedule. The old man should be in a meeting with the head boy and girl right now. He shouldn't be back for at least the next half hour. That's fine. That's perfect. Severus doesn't need any longer than that.

The closer he gets to the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster's office, the more excited he gets. He almost feels giddy. He is so anxious he wants break into a run, but he doesn't, because he always imagines the possibility that he is being watched, and he need not make a fool of himself.

-- Toothflossing Stringmints! Severus says, to the gargoyle, unable to completely mask the manic rapture in his voice and in his face. It has taken his body hostage. It wants to be fed, and he wants to feed it.

The gargoyle begins to shift. Severus is relieved. He'd known the password would be right, but it _could've_ have been changed. Dumbledore might be old and strange, but he wasn't stupid.

His breathing is rapid and uneven with longing and desire as he ascends the stairs. He is so excited. He gets to see her again. Again and again he can see her, for the rest of his life. Everyday he wants to see her. Every hour. Even though she is nothing more than an elaborate hologram, she seems so vivacious and warm he feels that a small part of her must still live in there.

And he has to visit it. He has to visit her. He has to see her.

He already knows the memory he will go to. Today is Tuesday, so today is 'Lily's Thirteenth Birthday'. Every Tuesday he relives it. And on Friday he consistently returns to the summer before that fateful fifth year, when he and Lily camped by the river. Sunday is the day he travels back, and once more finds himself a first--year at Hogwarts, discovering the castle with Lily, looking for secret passages.

Each day is assigned a certain memory. Each week he relives that same string of events. Each month he wants more.

It is never enough.

When he first began breaking into the headmasters' office he was more cautious. He paid attention to his surroundings more. But he has become so used to coming in here without ever encountering any hindrances that he does not notice the old man watching him as he hurries to the pensieve. He is ready to dive into his past when the old man speaks.

--So…back again Severus?

He is so shocked he practically jumps as he turns to the voice. He has his wand out, pointed threateningly. But when he sees Albus Dumbledore sitting in a plump blue velvet armchair the hairs on his arms stand upright as he his drenched by a sobering chill. He immediately puts his wand down, embarrassed.

He blushes violently. His face feels hot and his voice almost falters. He is sure the old man knows what he'd been about to do. What he has been doing. He is ashamed.

--I…I didn't see you. Sir.

--Yes, Dumbledore says, That does not surprise me Severus. Tell me, how much of your actual surroundings have you seen lately?

Severus swallows, though his mouth in empty.

--It was wrong of me to abuse your trust and come into your office. And use your things. I am sorry. It will not happen again.

Now that he has apologized, Severus hopes he can go. But Dumbledore gets up from his chair and walks closer to Severus. Severus is a bit frightened. He is not sure what his new master will do.

--Severus, your presence has been missed at the staff table during meals, and I've heard you've cut many of your classes short…it did not take me long to figure out where to find you.

--I won't do it again. Severus says, sounding like a young child pleading with a parent.

To Severus' complete surprise Dumbledore puts a hand on his shoulder and looks at him with a compassion Severus has never received from the old man before.

Dumbledore says,

--She isn't there. Don't look for her there, that's not her. It is nothing more than a convincing illusion. She resides within your soul, your heart, but not your memories.

The words come softly from Dumbledore's lips. He is gentle, yet Severus feels every sentence deliver a tremendous blow. He feels as if he is being gutted. Tears begin to trickle down his sallow cheeks. He remains silent. He keeps his eyes to the floor.

He can't believe he is crying in front of Albus Dumbledore. He has never cried in front of anybody.

The headmaster's voice now isn't much more then a whisper, but Severus hears the old man's tender words more clearly then he has ever heard anything.

--And you know where else she lives.

That is too much for Severus to hear. His legs falter, and he finds himself sitting on the floor. His tears come steady now. He doesn't care.

Then he is shocked. The headmaster is hugging him. Hugging him like his mother hadn't been able to hug him. Hugging him like his father hadn't wanted to hug him. And Severus hates this contact. His burns his skin. But he is glad it is there. It is all he ever really wanted.

Dumbledore hands him a lavender handkerchief, which Severus twists in his hands instead of actually using. Severus focuses his eyes on the lavender fabric as Dumbledore says, returning to his normal speaking voice,

--My pensieve will be moved to a new location, for the time being at least. And I ask you not to go looking for it. It does not do to dwell on the past…and forget to live in the present. Remember that.

Severus wants to say something to the old man. To prove he does not need this advice, that he is intelligent and competent. He is so used to being attacked all he can do is defend himself. Even when what he is defending himself from is kindness. Or love.

Severus looks at the headmaster. He wants to yell at the old man. He wants to yell at the top of his lungs, 'How dare you care about me! _Don't_ Care About Me!' But, Severus cannot see his own eyes. They betray him. Their single plead is 'I _Want_ You To Care About Me.'

The headmaster smiles at him, his eyes twinkling from behind his half-moon spectacles.

--I hope to see you at dinner. I hear tonight there will be spiced ham.

Then he leaves Severus in his office. Severus thinks maybe this is a sort of gift. Maybe it is his one last chance to use the pensieve, this time with Dumbledore's permission.

And oh! How he _longs_ to use it. How strong the urge is, the acidic desire eating through his organs and intestines until it feels as if there is nothing left but that pure longing. Oh! The _longing_…

But he knows he mustn't. The colored air he sees isn't Lily, no matter how desperately he wants believe it to be.

He cannot keep doing this. He's always known that.

But now he Knows.

And all Severus can do for the rest of the day is wonder if those had been tears that he'd seen twinkling in the old man's eyes.

And he is glad all he can do is wonder.

* * *

Outside the weather is brutal. Rain slams down onto the windows, the drops hitting like bullets. Thunder cracks outside. The world is being torn in half. 

Right now Severus' world is being torn in half.

--My Lord, the Potters? No, I don't think the prophecy can possibly mean them!

Gathered in a wooden room with Severus are the Dark Lord and a flock of masked Death Eaters.

--But you said 'the seventh month' did you not?

Severus faces the Dark Lord. He is encircled by Death Eaters. He looks frantic.

--No! It wasn't me! I didn't say it! I prophecy said it!

--You told me you heard a prophecy of my death when you went to the interview for your teaching post. Now you say you never told me. That is not true. You told me. I remember. No one else. It was you. Now I have to kill the one chosen to kill me. And I must kill his family.

--You can't mean the Potters! Surely there must be others to choose from, you must make sure you get the right-

--This child, Harry Potter, I know he is the One.

--Then, master, spare the mother! I beg of you!

--Why?

Severus pauses for a second, like he is unable to say what he wants to say. His voice is resolute, passionless, nothing like what it was previously.

--I Want Her. For myself. I desire her.

--Hmm, what a coincidence. Voldemort smiles, showing two serpentine fangs, She is here.

--What?

Severus becomes frantic once more; he looks around, his head going side to side. It is almost comical.

Lily suddenly appears, chained and shackled to the wall farthest from Severus. Her mouth is gagged and she struggles to break loose from the chains.

--You can have her, but you must kill her first.

Voldemort almost sounds bored. Severus shouts in objection,

--No!

Voldemort starts laughing, a sick delight shimmers in his eyes.

--You must _rape_ her and then _kill_ her. And then you can have her.

--No!

Voldemort turns his neck in a snake-like fashion. He looks at Severus grinning.

--You don't want her anymore?

--No!

--Fine. Then I will have her.

Severus screams,

--NO!

Voldemort can't seem to hear him as he walks towards Lily. He places an icy hand on one of her breasts. His other hand begins to strangle her. Lily's eyes bulge in fear. They burn into Severus.

--_AVADA KEDAVRA AVADA KEDAVRA AVADA KEDAVRA_!

Severus screams the Death Curse at Voldemort over and over, but nothing happens. He looks down at his wand, and it is only but a twig from a tree.

The other Death Eaters suddenly tower around him, roaring with laughter.

Severus tries to run to Lily's rescue but he is suddenly so dizzy and can't even walk in a straight line.

--Someone help me!

He screams.

And then he falls. He falls through darkness.

He wakes up on the other side of conciseness with his face lying atop an open potions book. He brain is still feels agitated and his heart pounds within his chest. He lifts his head off of the book. He remembers he had been planning a lesson and that he hasn't slept in two days. Sleeping has become hard for him, but staying awake is even more difficult.

He takes a deep breath. He has to get back to his work.

As he scribbles his notes he tries to ignore his racing mind. The dream he has just left teases him. He can't remember it, but he can feel it.

He knows what it was probably about.

--Ah, Severus! How are you on his clear evening?

Dumbledore stands in the doorway. He is not surprised to see him, for the headmaster had asked for Severus to brew him a potion earlier in the week. He must merely be here to pick it up.

--The Draught of Tranquility you asked for is finished and bottled.

Severus goes to one of his many apothecary cabinets and pulls a blue glass bottle the size of his fist. He looks at it with concern, as if checking to make sure it is perfect. He soon decides it is and hands it to Dumbledore.

--Here.

--Thank you for such promptness! Madam Pomfrey will be quite relieved to have it, with N.E.W.T.S. just around the corner she has suddenly been plagued with patients suffering from mysterious upset stomachs and strange breathing patterns. This will be just the thing, although it's unfortunate so many feel so pressured by these exams. They are only tests after all.

Severus feels he should say something, but he can't think of anything to say. He doesn't care about N.E.W.T.S., Madam Pomfrey, or the students. The two men look at each other, as if they are conversing telepathically. Dumbledore finally says,

--You seem as if you could use a bit of this potion yourself.

Dumbledore looks at the bottle a moment before conjuring a flask with his wand and siphoning a fraction of the potion into it. The flask levitates in mid-air until Dumbledore has safely tucked the bottle of the draught into one of the many pockets in his robes. When he has done so, he takes the flask from the air and hands it to Severus.

--This is for you.

Severus looks affronted. But before he can hand it back to Dumbledore, the old headmaster begins towards the door. Right before he leaves he says,

--Keep it. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey won't mind.

Severus looks at the flask and feels tricked. He doesn't want this potion. And he certainly doesn't _need_ it. It infuriates him, the stupid indigo liquid. He tells himself he is stronger and smarter than any potion, and that he should just throw it out.

He returns to planning his lessons.

The flask sits buried under the loose parchment of his desk for no more than three days before he drinks it.

* * *

For Snape the student, Hogwarts was unbearable. For Snape the teacher, Hogwarts is unbearable. 

Today he's teaching second years to brew hiccupping solution. It is a morning class with both Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Though he's specifically told his students not to test their potions, several idiots have, which motivated other idiots in the class to follow suit. There is now an incessant chorus of hiccupping echoing in the classroom that is driving him mad. He sends the non-fatally poisoned children to the infirmary and once again the class is quiet.

But not for long, because just after he'd rid the class of the hiccupping fools, a pink haired girl bumps into his desk on her way to turn in her potion and spills her entire flask onto a roll of fresh parchment he'd only just bought last week. He immediately insults her and takes 50 points away from her House. Then she starts sniffling to herself and convinces her Housemates to comfort her. He catches a few Hufflepuffs glaring at him, and he could care less. These children don't know him, and he doesn't want them to.

They are morons.

Almost everyday day he has to deal with situations like this. He _hates_ teaching these little gremlins. Their stupid faces looking at him for answers they could easily find on their own. All their moronic mistakes! And the ones who think they're geniuses are the most annoying; constantly looking for praise, memorizing information and spiting it out like monkeys dancing for coins. It disgusts him, such behavior, such little restraint.

But he hates the ones who just don't _care_ most of all. The ones who think they can pass the class by just being there. The ones who show up late, _smiling_. Those students who laugh at their failed tests and sloppily stir ingredients while talking about plans for the weekend. The ones who he is sure he hears snickering behind his back.

For Snape the student, Hogwarts was unbearable. For Snape the teacher, Hogwarts is unbearable.

But he stays because he doesn't have anywhere else to go. And he stays because he is supposed to.

He stays because he can still see her in the dimly lit midnight corridors.

* * *

"_Lily-like, white as snow,_

_She hardly knew_

_She was a woman, so_

_Sweetly she grew._

_Coffin-board, heavy stone,_

_Lie on her breast,_

_I vex my heart alone,_

_She is at rest._

_Peace, peace, she cannot hear_

_Lyre or sonnet,_

_All my life's buried here,_

_Heap earth upon it."_

_--Oscar Wilde, from 'REQUIESCAT'_


	16. Shadows

**SHADOWS**

* * *

"_When we quit thinking primarily about ourselves and our own self-preservation, we undergo a truly heroic transformation of consciousness."_

_--Joseph Campbell_

* * *

Underneath the canopy of the enchanted night sky sat Professor Severus Snape. Tonight, for the first time in his career at Hogwarts, he paid close attention as the Sorting Ceremony began. With a keen eye he watched a fresh batch of students file into the Great Hall. Today arrived someone he'd been waiting years to see. Someone who held the only thing he had ever found precious. Someone he'd sworn his life to. 

Today The Boy would arrive.

Amidst the swarms of black robes and muffled chatter, Snape searched for The Boy. But this proved difficult as he has never seen The Boy before and didn't know what he would look like. So he searched blindly, scanning faces and quickly dismissing them before going back to them and wondering if he'd made a mistake.

He saw red hair and his heart skipped a beat. He watched closely for the face to turn his way. But when it did, disappointment flooded through him. The boy he'd spotted wasn't The Boy, but so obviously another one of those Weasley brats that there is no chance he could possibly be Lily's son. He wondered if The Boy was even here. He glanced over at Dumbledore, who was sharing words with McGonagall.

Anxiety about the possible reasons The Boy wouldn't be here tonight had permeated the day and he had questioned Dumbledore no less than five times whether he was sure that The Boy was on his way. After that fifth time, Snape had resolved not to ask a sixth, as the smile Dumbledore had answered him with suggested amusement.

--I am quite sure you will see The Boy tonight Severus. He'd said.

The room began to settle. The Sorting would begin in a matter of minutes. Snape calmed his nerves and focused all his energy into a rigid posture. His dark eyes glared at the center of the hall in anticipation. If The Boy were here, Snape would soon have a most desirable view.

He watched the children either run eagerly, or walk with much trepidation, toward the Sorting Hat. To Snape, each child seemed to sit under the hat for much too long. The only child he had any interest in tonight was The Boy, The Boy he'd longed to see and had never wanted to meet.

_Lily's son, Lily's son, _his mind silently hummed, _Lily's son, after all this time…_

And suddenly it seemed like just yesterday he'd been in this giant room with Lily, his heart beating irregularly and his body coursing with adrenaline. The whole time fighting the urge to hold her hand, afraid of the possibility of being separated from her in the crowd.

And when he'd watched Lily get sorted into Gryffindor it felt as if fate had intervened and had rejected his petition for her heart. It was to be the first of many reminders given to him that he and Lily were not to take the same path.

Among other regrets, Snape regretted not possessing the bravery needed to be a Gryffindor. Because after many years it he'd finally reilized that it was not power that sang to the heart of Lily Evans.

--_Longbottom, Neville!_

Snape had always held an unspoken belief that when he saw The Boy, somehow Lily would come back. He would once more share the halls with her. He would once more look up from the haze of his bubbling cauldron and see her lost in concentration. And most importantly, he would once more have a chance for her forgiveness.

--_Nott, Theodore!_

As more and more students were divided among the houses, Snape dared not look at the remaining lot. The anxiety of seeing The Boy began to melt into fear. Perhaps he wasn't ready to see The Boy yet. He didn't even know what he would say to him, or if he would say anything at all. And what if…what if The Boy could tell…what if The Boy somehow knew…

_--Parkinson, Pansy!_

Potter, a name that he'd always loathed the sight and sound of, was his main concentration now. He must not miss his chance to see The Boy. Oh, how he _needed _to see The Boy!

_--Patil, Padma!_

He groaned inwardly. There were far too many students with 'P' last names. The A's through the O's combined had not nearly taken the amount of time as these bloody P's were. Snape was literally on the edge of his seat, stifling the desire to yell at McGonagall, who seemed to be calling out each name with the speed of an elderly tortoise. Inside he fired off insults at having to wait a moment longer.

_--Patil, Pavarti!_

His mind screamed. Would this Sorting never end? Would he ever see The Boy? This was unbearable! He almost wished he'd stayed locked in his office, left to wait for the first day of class, where surely The Boy would be present. But the thought of postponing seeing The Boy until then seemed even more challenging then attending the Sorting, waiting patiently and--

_--Potter, Harry!_

Snape's throat seized. His breathing halted. It felt as if he'd been doused in ice water. Pure electric shock was all he felt. His eyes blazed as he watched The Boy carefully walk towards the enchanted hat.

Head to toe, he was the spitting image of Potter.

_This can't be right! This must be a mistake, this can't be The Boy!_ Snape thought frantically. _This is a mistake!_

But no one jumped up, no other boy ran to claim the title. This boy was The Boy. This boy who looked nothing like Lily and everything like Potter. Rage and disappointment wrapped tightly around his body. This was The Boy. Why hadn't Dumbledore warned him?

--_Gryffindor!_

Of course. Of course The Boy was a Gryffindor! After all, The Boy was so obviously a duplicate of Potter what else would you expect? _And tomorrow I'll once more be stuck with Potter in the dungeons! _Snape thought in anger,_ He'll probably be just as idiotic as the original! Perhaps even more so! And he'll be sure to-to—_

Oh no. Not again. This couldn't happen again. Snape was not about to enter round two as Potter's punching bag. Nothing, _nothing_, no matter if he was Lily's son or not, would allow Snape to consent to that.

And it was then and there, as McGonagall rolled up the parchment of names, that Professor Snape decided he would tolerate nothing this Potter boy would throw at him. If that meant detentions and other such punishments then so be it. He would finally get to teach Potter a lesson.

* * *

For the rest of the evening he sat picking at his food, unable to eat much after the blow of seeing The Boy. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher sat beside him and refused to take any hints Snape gave him to shut up. 

--No, I've never been to Albania, nor do I care to ever go. Snape said coldly before sipping from his goblet of wine.

Then the annoying man, Quirrell, began to go on about why under no circumstances Snape should pass up an opportunity to travel to Albania.

Trying hard not to reach for his wand and curse the fool, Snape returned to his fury at discovering Lily's son would not be _Lily_ at all. It was painful and infuriating.

_Never what _I_ want, _he couldn't help but think.

Snape shifted his gaze toward The Boy for the second time that night. And had Snape decided to look in that particular direction one second before or one second after, his eyes would not have met with The Boy's.

But they had.

Snape's heart fluttered. Stillness settled in his muscles and his skin tingled. _Lily…_

Then The Boy quickly turned away and disappeared behind his fellow Gryffindors. Snape felt suddenly drowned by a feeling he had thought he would never feel again. He relished in it. That feeling that yes, Lily, Lily Evans was once again amongst him.

The eyes. _Her_ eyes. Encased in that loathsome package were her eyes, her bright emerald eyes. They were even set in the same almond shape as hers had been. Nothing about them at all suggested Potter. But…but…Potter would forever surround them! Where Lily was, Potter would always be!

A wildfire of frustration threatened to ignite. Snape couldn't let it. He was not to feel this way about Lily's son.

_Potter's son_. His mind taunted.

Prefects ushered each of their houses to their respective dormitories as food and plates began to disappear. And as Snape silently watched The Boy follow his housemates out of the Great Hall, he tired to see The Boy for what he was, a boy, a child, nothing else. But he could not. His eyes were too damaged. All they could see of the actual boy was a hazy figure engulfed and distorted by shadow. And no part of The Boy broke through the surface.

After the Hall was emptied of all but a few students, Snape continued to sit in silence, grateful that Quirrell had finally seen fit to leave. With one swift gulp he downed the remainder of wine in his goblet. Looking into the silver cup, he saw a reflection of himself, drained and empty.

He stood up and started toward his bedchambers. He'd had enough of his day. It was time for it to end.

Upon stepping out into the corridor a familiar voice called out. Snape turned around hesitantly; he had not the energy to discuss The Boy.

--He's a bit small, Dumbledore said cheerfully, but charming—

--Does he know anything about me? Snape snapped, unable to stop himself.

--No, said Dumbledore calmly, I did not see the point in telling him, nor would it be my place—

--Since when has that stopped you?

Snape crossed his arms and looked down, ashamed at his comment. What he really wanted was to ask Dumbledore why he had not been told The Boy was Potter reincarnate, but instead what came from his lips was nothing more then an observation brimming with despondency:

--He is his father.

Dumbledore stared at Snape, pausing before replying,

--Do not forget Severus, he is more than James.

--I will never need any reminding of that. Snape grumbled, unaware he was blushing slightly as a flash of the boy's green eyes vividly appeared in his mind.

--And he is more than_ Lily_.

Snape drew a sharp intake of air.

--I can only hope you can see past his—

--I can't, I can't. I will never be able to! Snape almost shouted at Dumbledore, a sick burning feeling in his gut.

--And what does this mean Severus? Dumbledore asked, his gaze intense.

Suddenly Snape knew what the point of this conversation was, what Dumbledore wanted to find out, what he feared might happen.

--Nothing. In the end it doesn't mean anything. Snape mumbled, ignoring the goosepimples covering his body.

Dumbledore's eyes remained on Snape. Snape knew the headmaster wanted more of a reassurance. Snape respected that. Why should the old man trust him to protect a boy carved into the likeness of the one person he utterly despised? Snape had to explain to him that on a certain level, it was no longer about that.

He looked into the bright blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore and said,

--I have…I have faith…I have faith in what I am to do. I have faith in what I going to do, and I will not be swayed. Not by you… Not even by myself. I will not run. And it's not about James Potter… And it's not about me.

Dumbledore surveyed Snape, nodding slightly as he listened, his face not giving anything away.

--I am proud of you Severus.

Snape's dark eyes glared at the old man like burning coals.

--Don't be.

Then Snape swiftly turned, his black robes swirling in the sudden movement, and continued on, harboring a wound that would not heal.

* * *

**_The End_**

* * *

_Note from the author: _

_This story was a pleasure to write, and one that had been screaming to be told since last July. I am glad I was able to realize it, and that you, whoever you are, read it._

_For those who enjoyed this, I will be returning to Severus eventually, but not for a while, though I have several Snape-ish fics planned, so put me on author alert and maybe one day there will be an email in your inbox saying I have a new Snape themed fic. _

_Anyway, thanks for reading! _

_I adore all reviews, whether they are clever or stupid or one word or twenty!_


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